Twilight Hunter (The Execution Underground) (15 page)

* * *

C
OLD
,
DREARY
AND
downright sketchy, Manhattan Square Park was the last place Frankie wanted to spend her night—not that she currently had many other options. She walked next to Jace along the park’s dim pathways. Even though her natural high body heat warmed her, she wrapped her arms around her chest and pulled her jacket closer. How many times had her parents told her to stay away from here at night when she was a teen? The thought of being mugged gave her the heebie-jeebies, even though she could easily hold her own in a fight.

She scanned the surrounding darkness, thankful for her heightened night vision. Nothing, as far as she could see. They continued on for several more minutes. Just as her shoulders started to relax, Jace reached for his gun. She heard it, too. Footsteps. He pulled his weapon just as David stepped into the dim glow of the moonlight.

“I don’t think it’d be a good idea to blow my head off.” David grinned. “You wouldn’t get your clues, and the city of Rochester might start to have a demon infestation problem. Follow me.”

Without a word, Frankie and Jace trailed behind him until they reached the metal structure. David climbed the aluminum steps two at a time, and they stayed on his heels. When they reached the top, he crouched down and pointed at the ground.

“This is where they were found. Right out here in the open. But as a precaution, I scanned the place. Watch this.”

David reached inside his leather and removed a copy of the Old Testament. He flipped to a page written entirely in Hebrew. He dug inside his pocket, then scattered rock salt across the platform as he continued to read. As his voice rose, obviously leading to the climax of his chant, he pulled a lighter from inside his coat. He stood and raised it high above his head before he knelt down again, pressing the flame to the cold metal. A trail of fire ignited, and a large symbol appeared—a perfect circle with two wavy lines perpendicular to each other running through the middle.

“What the hell is that?” Frankie asked. For a brief second an image flashed through her mind: a blonde woman with a long sword battling an enormous man wearing wolf skins. What the hell? She pushed the thought aside, but the image was so vivid and clear. Where was her imagination going?

David stared at the burning flames. “I’m not sure. A circle is one of the universal conduits, like water. It can give you full access to the beyond—usually a one-way ticket to hell.” He looked at Jace with a grim anger behind his eyes. “I don’t think you’re dealing with a regular werewolf. I think you’ve got a shape-shifting demon on your hands, and one I’ve never encountered.”

“I have to say, I’ve been called a lot of things, but shape-shifting demon is a first,” a deep voice said from behind them.

A chill shot down Frankie’s spine. The silhouette of a man hidden within the shadows loomed over them. She dropped into a defensive stance, bared her canines and growled. The small hairs on the backs of her neck and arms stood on end.

“I don’t give a shit who or what you are, I hope you’re ready to die,” Jace growled.

“I had a feeling you’d say something like that.”

The man stepped into the light, and Frankie stared at him.

Tall, with broad shoulders, flowing auburn hair, sea-blue eyes and loads of muscle. The heavy scent of his skin hit her full force. Her eyes widened as she sucked in a harsh breath.

A smirk crept across the man’s face. “Seems like your bitch has a keen sense of smell.” He stepped forward. “My name’s Robert, though your papers have been calling me the new-age Jack the Ripper—surprisingly accurate. Tell me, what do you think of my work?”

“I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re one sick fuck.” Jace raised his gun and pointed it at Robert’s head. “One sick fuck who needs to be buried six feet under.” Jace fired.

The sicko dodged more quickly than Frankie would have believed possible, and instead of his chest, the bullet pierced his shoulder. He yelped and stumbled back, knocking into the metal railing. Blood poured down his shirt. He clutched his hand to the wound.

David jumped to his feet. He drew his own gun with one hand and his cell phone with the other. As the killer stumbled toward them, David snapped a picture of the symbol with his phone while he kept his weapon trained on the killer.

A satisfied grin crossed Jace’s face as Robert fell to his knees, still clutching the bleeding wound. Jace raised his gun and pressed the barrel against Robert’s forehead. “You better say a prayer and hope that Satan doesn’t make you his bitch every day for the rest of eternity.”

“I think you’re in for a surprise.” Robert pulled a hunting knife from his belt and stabbed Jace in the thigh.

Blood spurted from Jace’s leg as he doubled over in pain. The crimson liquid splashed over Robert, turning his twisted features even more demented.

Robert stood, smiled in self-satisfaction and plucked the bullet from his shoulder. The blood trickled to a stop. He held the bullet out in his hand. “You think you can kill me that easily? And you’re a hunter?” He dropped the bullet in front of Jace. It hit the metal with a loud clang.

David cocked his old-time revolver and aimed. The sound of the shot rang in Frankie’s ears, muffling David’s voice when he spoke. “We might not be able to kill you—yet—but we sure as hell can cause you a lot of unnecessary pain.”

Frankie ripped her gaze away from the action. David could handle it. Jace was kneeling, spewing curses she had never even heard before. His blood formed a small pool of crimson around him, the heat from the liquid billowing with steam in the freezing cold. She pressed her hands against the wound and applied as much pressure as she could, but his blood continued to flow with frightening speed.

“Shit.” She stripped off her coat and rolled it into a long strip. Using all her strength, she forced Jace to straighten his leg. She looped the material underneath his thigh and tied it off above the wound. She hoped that bastard hadn’t hit an artery.

She grabbed Jace’s face and forced him to look her in the eye. “Don’t take the tourniquet off.” She turned to leave, to help David in the fight, but Jace grabbed hold of her wrist.

“Don’t you dare get hurt. Give him hell.” He released her.

David was fighting hand-to-hand with the bastard—or hand-to-gun. He had jammed the butt of the revolver into Robert’s jaw. Blood spewed from Robert’s mouth and stained his teeth red.

Frankie ran straight for him and thanked God she had enough focus to transition. She dove for Robert and shifted mid-jump. Her canines collided with his stomach, piercing deep into his flesh. He toppled over from the force of her attack.

Within seconds he had hold of her by the scruff. Lifting her as if she weighed no more than a newborn pup, he threw her away from him. She hit the platform hard and skidded across the smooth metal. Her back legs slid over the edge of the structure. Her stomach dropped and her fur bristled as she clawed at the platform and tried to hold herself in place. She yelped. Just as she was sure she was about to fall to her death, a pair of large hands clutched her paws. Jace hauled her back onto the platform.

“What did I say about not getting hurt?”

She whimpered to say “I’m sorry” and panted to catch her breath.

A loud groan echoed through the night. The sound of David’s strained voice mumbling in Hebrew registered in Frankie’s overly sensitive ears. A low growl escaped her at the sight of Robert lifting David into the air by his throat. David grasped Robert’s hand and clawed at his fingers to no avail. His mumbling grew fainter as his air supply was cut off.

Without thinking, Frankie darted in Robert’s direction, teeth bared and ready to strike. The sharp points of her canines latched onto his throat. David fell from his clutches as the three of them toppled over the railing. Frankie closed her eyes. She heard a loud shrieking yelp and faintly wondered if she’d hit the ground yet. She couldn’t feel her body. Someone shook her shoulder, and a wave of pain shot through her as her consciousness faded into blackness.

* * *

J
ACE
DIDN
’
T
GIVE
a shit that his leg was injured or that he was bleeding like a stuck pig. He skyrocketed down the platform steps and sprinted to Francesca’s side. At the force of the impact, she’d shifted into human form, and her naked body lay on top of the frozen grass and half-melted snow.

“Francesca? Hey, Princess? Don’t you pass out on me. Don’t you do it, damn it!” He probed her neck for a pulse and massaged the bones. Pulse steady, and her neck was perfectly intact. But her right arm and shoulder were a whole different story.

Shit. He couldn’t move her and risk injuring her further, and he couldn’t call the cops. An unconscious naked woman and two men covered in blood, with bullet casings scattered everywhere, wouldn’t make for an easy explanation.

He glanced at David, who lay on the ground several feet away. His leg was bent unnaturally, but he had managed not to pass out. Instead he stared up into the night sky with wide, shocked eyes.

“David, are you okay?’ The world spun, and Jace steadied himself with his free hand. In one quick rush, the blood drained from his face and a frosty cold nipped beneath his skin.

David glanced in his direction. “Jace? Jace? Oh, fuck.”

* * *

W
HEN
J
ACE
FINALLY
came to, he was sprawled across an old beat-up sofa, the cushions beneath him crying from his overwhelming weight. He cracked one eye open to find a pair of shiny thin glasses reflecting the light straight into his retina.

“What the hell? Get that light out of my eye.”

The glare dimmed, and Jace peered up at a pair of large hazel eyes and a mop of wavy brown hair. Who the...?

“Shane?”

“Oh, good, you recognized me. Hopefully that means we won’t have to test for any brain damage due to overwhelming blood loss.”

“What?”

“Shane, I think I can take it from here.” A large hand brushed the kid aside, and David slid into focus. “Hey, man. You okay? You looked whiter than a ghost the last time your eyes were open.”

Jace groaned in response. His whole body felt drained and devoid of any energy.

“You lost a ton of blood, J.” David paused. “By the way, you may need to clean out the H3. Just sayin’.”

The image of the sadistic killer’s face flashed in Jace’s mind, and he suddenly recalled why he felt like complete and utter shit.

“Where’s Francesca?” Jace pushed himself up on his elbows.

“I’m right here.” Her gorgeous voice sounded in his ears like a sweet melody. “My arm was broken, and I was a little bruised up, but I’m fine now. I heal fast, you know.”

“That is
not
fine. I’m going to torture that son of a bitch when I get hold of him.”

David pushed lightly against his shoulder, trying to ease him back down. “It’s cool, J. Take a breather. We’re lucky we got out of there with so little damage—other than my leg, that is.”

Jace’s eyes widened as he remembered. “How bad is it?”

Shane cleared his throat. “He broke it pretty badly. Then he was forced to walk on it to get you and Francesca into the H3 before I got there. Even with extensive physical therapy, he might still have a permanent limp, and he’ll definitely be out of commission for a while.”

Jace met David’s gaze. David’s eyes burned with rage, and Jace knew that if David had the ability, he would kill Robert with his bare hands. If there was one thing David couldn’t handle, it was people screwing with his job, and being physically impaired was practically number one on the list of things that would completely mess up David’s hunting skills.

“David, man, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

David shook his head and cut off Jace. “Don’t even go there, J. I’m a big boy. I can handle myself, and I chose to get involved in this, so just leave it be.”

Jace nodded and grumbled as he shoved himself into an upright position. Francesca was sitting in a brown suede La-Z-Boy with a blanket wrapped tight around her body. A sharp pang hit Jace hard in the chest; he’d never been so envious of a blanket. His body stiffened, and a slow ache throbbed in his groin as he pictured Francesca wrapped up in his arms, his hands stroking her smooth skin. He shifted, and a pain in his thigh snapped him back to reality. He was ass-deep in a hunt for a sadistic killer, and the last thing he needed was to be hung up on a beautiful woman, much less one who was a werewolf.

He examined his leg and assessed the wound. It was nicely bandaged up, and he felt the pull of stitches underneath—professional-level work. Shane must have been the one to dress the gash, and Jace shook his head and wondered if a medical degree was another item he could add to the long list of the kid’s assets.

“Thanks for fixing me up, Shane.”

“You’re welcome. All I needed to do was—”

Jace cut the kid off before he launched into another long lecture. “David, you shouldn’t have brought him into this.” He nodded toward Shane. “What the hell do you think Damon’s going to do to him when he finds out that we were at his place?” He glanced at Shane. “This
is
your place, right?”

“Actually, this is my grandmother’s apartment. She’s out playing bingo tonight. We already took all the necessary precautions to keep Damon and any other members of the Execution Underground from finding us,” he said, speaking a mile a minute. “Oh, and I gave you a new phone for contact purposes. No trackers on it, obviously. It’s in the console of your H3.”

Jace gave him a thumbs-up. “Gotcha. Thanks.”

David cleared his throat as he managed to stand with the help of a large wooden crutch. “Jace, we can’t beat around the bush here. There is something seriously scary about that fucker.”

“Were you able to figure out what type of demon he is?”

David shook his head. “That’s just it. When he was strangling me, I recited Psalm 91 three times. Add in a shofar and that’s the big fat Jewish mother of all exorcism rituals. He didn’t even flinch. He’s not a demon, J. And whatever the hell he is, I don’t like it.”