Blood Moons (39 page)

I'm sorry I neglected you,
he thought.
Christ, I'm so sorry.

She stopped her twirling and ran for the door. "He's here!

He's back!"

Cold fear twisting his gut, he crushed the cookie as he shot to his feet to stop her. "Pixie, no!" But she was already out the door, racing down the hall and around the corner where he couldn't see her anymore. He stopped breathing and black covered his vision for a second when he rounded the corner.

Jeremy grasped for the wall to keep from passing out.

His sister, the only person he cared for in his entire messed-up life, the small redheaded waif was standing in front of a storybook monster, looking far up at his distorted face. Jesus, she was so small the top of her head barely reached his stomach!

Hunt stood there, looking down at her with glowing yellow eyes, head cocked to the side as if he didn't know what Pixie was. Had he grown fucking
bigger
? His hair was streaked like tiger fur; shadows of stripes were on his skin one second, then Jeremy blinked and they were gone. His face was inhuman, his fangs enormous. His fingers were clawed again—
and his sister was two feet from him
!

"Bend down," she ordered and Jeremy panicked, starting forward again.

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But he stopped dead when Hunt's head tilted even farther to the side at the sound of her voice. Jeremy didn't dare make any sudden moves. Pixie would pay the price if Hunt got spooked.
"Christ, Pixie, get away from him!"
he thought to her. She wasn't listening.

And then Hunt did something so completely astonishing, it left Jeremy gaping. He got down on one knee in front of the little girl—dozens of grown-ups around, staring, frightened for her, not knowing what to do—and bowed his head so she could reach his hair.

Pixie ruffled his hair and giggled in delight, and when Hunt raised his gaze to her face again, he was
smiling
. But then Pixie stopped laughing, and Hunt's smile faded with the sound. They stared at each other for two full minutes without moving and all the while, Jeremy was frantic inside, ready to kill Hunt if he so much as harmed a hair on her head.

Hunt was the first to move. He slowly pushed to his full height, somehow gaining control of himself as he went, so that by the time he stood straight, he was almost fully human again, except for his eyes, and his claws, which he couldn't seem to change back. He held his hand palm up, and Pixie put hers into it.

Then, with her hand clasped ever so gently in Hunt's, she turned to Jeremy, pulling Hunt along. "The fluffy one shall behave himself," she announced. "He promised."

Jeremy followed them tensely back to the training room, keeping an eye on Hunt the entire way. Pixie told Hunt to sit, and he did, and then she perched on his lap, as if nothing was wrong. "I don't think your brother likes you so close to me,"

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Hunt said. He didn't sound anything like the voice Jeremy had heard over the phone earlier. More like the roaring beast he'd heard in the alley later.

Pixie sighed and rolled her eyes as if he was being unreasonable, but she scrambled off his lap and sat cross-legged on the floor by the armchair. She even cast Jeremy a pointed look, a silent command to sit. He placed himself between the two of them. If anything happened, he would protect Pixie. Even if it cost him his life.

"He took Dara," Hunt and Pixie said, as if with the same voice. "He'll hurt her. It's my—"

"—not your—"

"—fault."

"He'll hurt her as much as he can before he kills her," they said together again.

"Stop it!" Jeremy snapped. "Get out of her head."

Pixie blinked at him. When she spoke, it was with her voice. Hunt was silent. "He's not doing it, Jer," she said. "I am."

"Well, stop it," he commanded. "You shouldn't even be here."

"I
have to
be here," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly. "Dara is gone and he can't focus without her. He needs our help. My—"

"—voice keeps the others away," they said together again.

"I'll fucking kill you for this, Hunt," Jeremy snarled, pushing to his feet. "Leave my sister out of this."

Hunt's face contorted again, his claws digging into his palms. He curled in on himself, clutching his head, visibly 357

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fighting for control. "I ... can't track her. Here," he said brokenly, but alone.

Jeremy glanced down at Pixie to make sure she was okay.

His sister's chin wobbled as she watched Hunt. Crying for the beast. "Pixie, get out of here. Go find Nell and have her make you something to eat."

"But I—"

"No buts. Go." If she was far enough away and occupied, she wouldn't feel Hunt's struggle anymore. It wouldn't hurt her.

Pixie left, closing the door softly behind her.

"Wouldn't have. Hurt her," Hunt said in a growling voice.

"You expect me to believe you? Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Hunt shook his head sharply. "No. But I can see me.

Through you."

Jeremy didn't even feel anything. He
should
feel something if someone else was in his mind.

If it was Pixie ...
came a stray thought. It was his, but not brought up by him.
If it was Pixie taken, and I couldn't find
her ...
"Stop it."

"Need to find her," Hunt said.

"And you can't track her."

"This place stinks. Too many scents. Can't find hers."

"Her mind?"

"Black. Unconscious."

John had told him what Dara had done yesterday. The killer knew Dara could get inside his head. He was crazy, but 358

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he wasn't stupid. Of course he would have knocked her out. If she wasn't conscious, she couldn't read his mind.

Jeremy paced to the cookie plate and back again. He looked at Hunt, who was now sitting back with his eyes closed and his jaw locked, barely hanging on. He returned to the plate of cookies and brought it back with him. "Have one," he said, rolling his eyes at himself. He was sounding like Pixie.

"Chocolate will do you good."

One golden eye cracked open. A black-clawed hand uncurled, one bloody finger at a time. Hunt took a cookie gingerly but, like Jeremy, he didn't eat it. Probably couldn't open his jaw enough to take a bite.

"We'll find her," Jeremy said, making an attempt to be supportive. But with the vision of his little sister standing so fearlessly in front of Hunt, it was damn difficult.

"If we're too late..."

"We won't be."

"I'll kill him," Hunt said savagely and Jeremy's mind flooded with scenes of torture like he hadn't seen before, even in Dara's memories of the killer. This was Hunt's doing.

What he was capable of, and what he would let loose again, just as he had before. Far too much had been torn away from him already. He wouldn't lose Dara too. That woman's grace was all that stood between him and what he'd once become to avenge his family. He wouldn't hesitate to become it again if anything happened to her.

"When I'm done," Hunt said, "stop me."

Jeremy looked into his golden tiger eyes; Hunt wouldn't let him look away. He wanted something from Jeremy. Didn't 359

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need words; a nod would do. He wasn't asking for a cage, or a tranquilizer, because neither would stop him, and both of them knew it.

Jeremy nodded. Once.

When he gave his word, he never went back on it.

Both of them knew that too.

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"Wake up ... Wake up ... Dara,
wake up
!"

Dara couldn't open her eyes. She was blindfolded, lying on her side on a hard floor, with her hands and feet bound. As she dragged herself out of the fog and back to consciousness, she felt nauseated and could guess that the blow to the head she'd received had probably caused a concussion. Her body hurt. Her shoulder was bruised and her hip and left her leg was numb.

"Dara..."

"I'm here."
Everything sounded echoed in her mind. She felt dizzy, as if she'd just fallen down after spinning for an hour.

A wave of relief hit her, nearly making her pass out. She moaned in her mind.
"Don't do that."

"Are you hurt?"

She hesitated.
"Yes."

Rage.

"Tristan, stop."

He pulled back the maelstrom of emotion, but stayed with her.
"Do you know where you are?"
His voice brushed away the cobwebs, but it couldn't stop the pounding pain.

"No, but it's cold."

She felt him settle over her senses, gauging what she felt, what she heard and smelled. Dara didn't have his mutant nose. All she smelled was dust and cement. That meant 361

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nothing in a city filled with both. Tristan pulled up her memories of seeing Katie through the killer's eyes as a question.

"Could be there. Can't tell."
And even if she was, they still didn't know the location.
"What time is it?"

He didn't answer.
"Can you sit up?"

"Not sure."

"Try."

Dara pulled her knees to her chest and tried to lever herself up. Without the use of her hands, without knowing what was around her, and with the constant feeling of vertigo from the concussion, it was like trying to stand up on an out of control merry-go-round.

"Good morning." Brendon Z sounded like he was within ten feet of her. Dara stopped moving and in her mind, Tristan stilled. "Took you long enough. I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't wake up in time."

"In time for what?" she asked. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

He grabbed her by her hair, tearing it out where it had stuck to her skull with dried blood. Dara cried out as he pulled her head up. "For the big finale, bitch," he said right in her face, his rancid breath scorching her.

The blindfold absorbed her tears. Tristan had retreated, but from a distance, she felt his rage and was glad he was shielding her from it. He was moving. Where, she didn't know.

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"What's the matter? Can't use that clever little brain of yours?" He tapped her head hard with something heavy. "I was wondering if that would do the trick."

"Breathe in deep, Dara."

She did. Except for Brendon Z's breath, she smelled nothing.

Brendon Z released her and she fell back, her head thumping against the floor. She nearly knocked herself out again. "You have five hours, bitch. If you're the praying type, now would be a good time to confess your sins."

Has to justify his actions as the right ones,
she recalled.

Very superstitious; use it against him!
The impulse was strong enough that she and Tristan might just have come up with it at the same time. There wasn't much she had going for her right now. She had to exploit any small advantage.

"No, but I'll hear yours," she said, fighting to sit up again.

Brendon Z laughed. "My sins? Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Your death,"
Tristan said in her mind, wanting her to say it out loud. "The harbinger of your death," she said instead.

She'd made it to an unsteady, half sitting position on her hip, but it took muscle strength she didn't have now to keep herself upright.

The killer was quiet for a long moment. Then a hard, booted kick to her side sent her sprawling again. It knocked the breath out of her and she coughed weakly, fighting the darkness reaching out to her. "My brain is full of demons," he said in a hollow voice. "One more makes no difference.

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Whatever you tried to do, it didn't work. Dragons don't fear mice."

Dara had no idea what he was talking about. "You know, you sounded a lot more rational in my head. How'd you even find me?"

He got in her face again. "Can't you read my mind?"

She attempted a shrug. "Can. Won't. I feel sick enough already."

She felt him draw back. "Imagine living with that sickness day after day," he said in that hollow voice. "Imagine not being able to escape the voices, the faces, not even in sleep."

"Is that..." No, she had to be hearing wrong. He couldn't possibly ... "Are you seriously asking for my sympathy?"

"And if I am?"

Aaaand we're back to psycho again.
Amazingly, Dara wasn't afraid. He wasn't a formless nightmare anymore. He was a flesh and blood man. A twisted monster, yes, but somehow far less fearsome than she'd imagined him. Now she had a tangible target.
Now
she could fight him.

Now, she only felt anger. That this sick piece of shit had dared to touch her ... galling. "You conked me on the head, dragged me God knows where, and you plan to sadistically murder me and put my body on display. Hmm, let me think for a second. Here's what I think: fuck you, asshole."

Tristan read her intent the second it sprang up in her mind and lowered his shields around her just as she gathered her strength to force her way into Brendon Z's mind. He screamed again and Dara vaguely heard him fall, but she didn't have time to pay attention. She looked for anything 364

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that might tell her where she was, but he knew what she was looking for and confused her with a flood of other places.

Shuffling noises came at her, then he hit her with that heavy thing again and again, trying to dislodge her from his head. Dara held steady, feeling bones break. He would kill her if she didn't stop, but he'd kill her later anyway. Anything she could find and pass on to Tristan was a chance that they might find her still alive. Bruises and broken bones healed.