Unearthed (6 page)

“Now answer my question.”

“I heal fast. That’s it,” she said unhappily.

“I’ve seen you move. I’ve seen you fight. And while you’re still pretty damn pathetic, you’re a lot faster and stronger than the average human.”

“Because I’ve worked on it, trained, not because of the vamp blood. All it gave me was faster healing and a whole bunch of drawbacks.”

“Like what?”

“You didn’t get me a drink,” she said, signaling the waitress. After listening to the woman go through a long list of imported beers, the hunter sighed. “I’ll take whichever one is the most expensive.”

He laughed. “Ooh, you sure know how to punish me, puppet.”

“Call me ‘Seer’ or ‘Hunter’ or even ‘Keira.’ But stop calling me a puppet.”

“Take the hand out of your ass and I will.”

“I’m no one’s puppet. The Rising doesn’t do that.”

“I wasn’t talking about the Rising. I was talking about your Master.”

“I told you I don’t have one.”

“And I’m telling you that you do. Masters aren’t always external, puppet. Whatever’s controlling your mind and causing your damage is your Master and will continue to be until you deal with it or you die—whichever comes first. I’m betting on the latter.”

“I had no idea demons were so wise.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about demons.”

“Teach me.”

“A demon teaching a human? Yeah, that’s never, ever going to happen. Even if it wouldn’t piss off every supernatural being in the world.”

“You don’t have any loyalty to the council, and demons don’t follow rules.”

“There are a few we follow. But they come from the guy downstairs, not the council.”

“Then why take the jobs they give you?”

“Because it gives us a chance to kill things without anyone getting their panties in a bunch. Except for the vic, of course.” They stopped speaking when the waitress delivered the hunter’s beer, but their eyes stayed locked. He’d like to believe it was because they both knew better than to take their eyes off the enemy, but that might not have been all of it.

She was strong, far more than a normal human, whether she knew it or not. And her strength wasn’t just physical. There was something different about her, not caused by the vamp blood.

“What does he see in you, puppet? He disappears for almost six months and then shows up outta nowhere, in the city most likely to get him killed. He could go anywhere in the entire world, so why’d he come back here?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, you do. It has something to do with you, but what I can’t figure out is why.” Davyn hadn’t noticed it until the second time he’d sensed Lamere’s presence in the area, through the minds of a group of humans. The vamp had been following the hunter and she’d known it, drawing him to a secluded area. Not a smart thing to do, but she’d done it, possibly on purpose. Lucky for her, Lamere only watched from a distance. That night Davyn had learned a lot—what she was willing to do to get her prey and what Lamere was after. But he still didn’t understand why. “A hex couldn’t bind him to you this long, and even if you shared a blood bond—”

“We share nothing,” she spat.

“
Okaaay
. Then why is he only around when you are? Why did he come back to the city? Why not at least
try
to hide from me. Lamere’s not stupid, he knows who I am.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the guy the Prime comes to when he needs help. I’m the guy who can read a crowd and guess who’s most likely to have had a run-in with my mark.” It wasn’t rocket science, but no other demon seemed to have figured it out, instead depending on their magic, something that took more energy and was less reliable. Cops called it profiling. Davyn called it obvious. “I’m the guy who always gets who and what he wants.”

“Are you sure you’re ‘the guy’?” she asked with air quotes. “Because from where I’m sitting your hands look pretty empty and Lamere’s still alive.”

Davyn ignored her mocking, determined not to let this puny being make him any grumpier. “What do you know about his wish?”

“Umm…”

“You don’t know about his wish, do you?” He sat back in his chair. She’d be even less useful if she continued to be this clueless. “A century ago he won the Treaty challenge, killed all the other competitors and had a great time doing it. As Champion, he received a magical wish—whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. Unfortunately, no one but him knows what he wished for, or even if he used it.”

“He used it,” she said stiffly. “I don’t know what the wish was, but that’s what he does—uses things.”

“That’s my thinking too.” Davyn nodded. “I’m good at what I do. Really good. And I still haven’t caught up to him. So obviously whatever he wished for has something to do with why I can’t find the bastard.”

“Because it couldn’t possibly be your fault.”

“Nope. Dealing with magic means you have to expect two things: balance and loopholes. If I knew what the wish was, I could find a loophole.”

“Maybe he’s just better than you are. Have you ever thought of that?”

“Uh, no. Why would I?” he scoffed. “Never mind. You’re no help at all. Unless…let’s go back a little bit, back when I was trying to find some use for you. You should answer, considering it’s a large part of the reason I let you live. A vamp who doesn’t care about breaking Treaty law can go anywhere in the world. Why come back to the center of the zone? What does he want?”

She looked at his plate. “Why do you eat so much?”

“I’m a big boy, and big boys need a lot of food. Why don’t you answer my questions? Even though you know I can just force my way into your mind and find out for myself.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Liar.”

“You bet your ass I am, but not right now. Not about that. Just tell me what he wants from you.” He studied the way she moved, drew in on herself, and avoided his eyes. “Shit. You didn’t know about the other times he followed you, did you? What did you think was happening? That it was just a coincidence? Or do you really think it’s because you’re that good a hunter?”

“I knew something was keeping him here,” she said, shaking her head unhappily. “But I didn’t think it was because of me.” It wasn’t really a mistake she’d made or something she’d missed. If Davyn hadn’t been watching
both
of them, seeing the way Lamere tracked her from the moment the sun went down, he wouldn’t have known either.

“You’re not surprised, though. Why not?”

“He and I go back a ways.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five human years old? How much ‘a way’ can there be?”

“I’m twenty-three. We…met six years ago.”

“You were practically a baby, definitely underage. I’m guessing you showed him a fake ID. Then what happened? Relationship went south? You got too clingy, so he told you he needed more space?” He shrugged. “Personally, I think you’re better off without him. I mean when your boyfriend drains all the blood out of another woman and fills her back up with
his
, that’s just going too far, am I right? Although, it did give you one hell of a good excuse to kill the bastard.”

“I don’t need an excuse to kill him—he’s rogue and he’s dangerous. And he wasn’t…”

“Wasn’t what? The vamp you always thought he was? A good lay? Tell me before my brain explodes from all the possibilities of why someone like you would feel so passionately about killing a mark that you’d go up against a demon to do it.”

“Self-preservation. Offense is stronger than defense.”

“You lost me.”

“He’s playing,” she blurted. “This whole time—both of us looking for him, him showing up in public, knowing we’ll find him and knowing we can’t do anything in front of the people. It’s all a game to him. Some fun before he tries to take me.”

“Why would he want you?”

She hesitated. “Because he’s male, and he wants to control. Possess. You said it yourself—I look like the girl he
turned
. I’m his type.”

Davyn was proud of himself for not killing her, because this was getting interesting. Unlike basically everything else. “Okay, my little narcissist, why doesn’t he just take you then?”

“I told you: because he’s psychotic and enjoys the challenge. I assumed I was the challenge.” She laughed bitterly. “But I’m not.
You
are. I’m the…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Distraction?”

“Not anymore, puppet,” he said, grinning. This was perfect. “Now you’re the bait.”

The hunter’s chair squealed as she shoved away from the table. “Like hell.”

“Lamere might be old and evil, but he still has weaknesses,” Davyn said. “Now that I know what one of them is, I need to decide on a way to use it.”

“You mean
me
. No way am I bait.”

“You’ve been bait for weeks, but neither of us knew it. Now we do. Bright side: I’m not going to kill you any time soon. What good is bait if it can’t wiggle?” He almost wished he’d pushed through her shield and read her mind, because something big was going on in there—something that made her realize the uselessness of arguing.

“If I’m the one risking everything, then I get to kill him.”

“You’ve never been fishing, have you? Neither have I, but from what I’ve seen on TV, the bait always ends up in the fish’s belly. So I think you’re probably better off hoping you make it through at all. You take care of that, and I’ll take care of gutting the fish.”

“I need to be the one to kill him.”

“If you can think of one reason why I would give even a tiny amount of shit, then sure. Sadly for you, the chance of that happening is only slightly less than me winning the Ms. America crown. I take that back. That crown would be mine for the taking.”

The hunter stood again, tossing her napkin on the table. “Come on.”

“We’re going on a field trip now? I’m not done eating.”

“It won’t take long.” She walked outside the restaurant and went around the building to the garbage area, without checking to see if he followed.

Not that she needed to. Davyn was so curious about her, he’d put off killing her. A demon. Putting off killing someone he could get away with killing and leaving his unfinished dinner to follow her somewhere. What was the world coming to?

“Hope you’re not taking me home to meet your parents,” he said. “’Cause I wouldn’t do that even if I
did
date.” He laughed at the idea of actually dating anyone. He’d been in enough human minds to know how terrifying that was. Demons had the only right idea about the opposite sex. Women were like convenience stores—go in, get what you need, then get out. Don’t loiter, don’t fall in love with the place, and only go there for things you can’t get somewhere else.

She stopped behind the dumpster, a security floodlight shining directly on her. “You can ask me three questions, demon.”

“About what, and isn’t it usually twenty questions?”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

He laughed. “Every time more than one person is involved, it’s a negotiation, puppet.”

“Five. But only if you stop calling me puppet.”

“Even after you’re dead? And I’ll do it for fifteen.” What was she talking about and why was he bartering with her? He’d ask as many questions as he wanted about whatever he wanted, or he’d hurt her. That was all. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible for a demon to pass up a deal. Not to mention that the hunter fought a shitload better than she negotiated.

“Eight.”

Fuck it. She’d be a lot easier to deal with if he let her think she won. “Ten.”

“Fine.” She turned towards him. “Ten, and I need to be the one who kills Lamere.”

“And I still don’t know why I should care about your needs or anything else about you.”

She slowly lifted her shirt.

“Love to, puppet, but I can’t.”

“You wanted to know why. This is why.”

He came closer, wary of a trap. She couldn’t do any serious damage to him, but no one liked unwelcome pain. Then he saw the marks across her belly, like a kid had taken a white crayon to bronzed skin and scribbled as hard as they could. The tissue was raised, pale, intersecting lines covering her abs, sides, and back all the way to the edge of her shirt, maybe beyond but he couldn’t see.

Fuck
. He met her eyes then, saw naked shame. He’d made fun of her beauty because it hadn’t been her doing. But this…this hadn’t, either. And for this, she was ashamed. “Lamere did that to you?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. Then she cleared her throat. “Second question.”

“No, that wasn’t a quest—” She was no genie granting wishes. She was a rebel hunter who offered up her grief to a demon as proof she deserved to kill the being who’d created it
.
Exposing her weakness to someone who could literally kill her one-handed. If Davyn valued courage, he’d be impressed. Fuck it, he
was
impressed. A little.

Even though he wanted to touch her, to see if it was real, he couldn’t. So he traced one of the lines with his eyes, following it from the top of her pants, across her stomach just under her belly button, until it crossed too many others and he lost track of it. “How are you still alive?” It seemed improbable that a human could’ve lived through whatever caused that much scarring.

“Because of his blood. Third question.”

“How many times?” Just one feeding wouldn’t be enough to make her heal the way he’d seen her do at the hospital.

“Many.” She licked her lips and rubbed them together.

“He bled you and then fed you, but you didn’t
turn
.”

“Is that a question?”

“Tell me why you didn’t
turn
, puppet.”

“Because he was always very careful not to drain me. He didn’t feed from me that often. He just made me bleed.” Her expression was blank—no tears or trembling lips or any of the other human mannerisms Davyn would’ve expected. “When I started to lose too much blood, he would stop. Then he forced me to drink from him, so I would heal and he could do it again. Fifth question.”

“If you took his blood, why do you still carry the scars?”

“Because he wanted me clean. Cleansed by the sea.”

“Salt water.”
The only way to blemish a vampire’s perfection. Well, there was another, but it involved a wooden stake and the bastard’s heart. And was a lot more permanent.