Deadly Pursuit (A Blood Hunter Novel, #2) (50 page)

Jon
stood
in
the
center
of
the
room.
He
caught
her
gaze
and
raised
an
eyebrow,
and
a
little
fire
came
to
life
low
in
her
belly.
She
did
her
best
to
ignore
it.

She
wasn’t
foolish
enough
to
think
that
she
could
have
a
life
with
Jon.
Just
because
he’d
kissed
her
a
few
times
didn’t
mean
he
was
ready
to
promise
her
forever.
Besides,
her
forever
and
his
were
drastically
different
propositions.
Did
she
want
to
take
up
with
a
werewolf?
Strangely,
she
didn’t
mind
the
wolf
bit;
she
had
found
him
wild
and
beautiful.
But
Jon
was
already
far
older
than
her
and
could
live
for
a
whole
lot
longer,
while
she
would
grow
old
and
die.

She
needed
to
back
off,
keep
her
mind
clear
while
she
decided
what
she
wanted
to
do
with
her
life.

But
one
thing
she
was
clear
on—Hezrai
needed
to
die.
He
was
evil.
Without
him,
maybe
the
Church
could
grow
to
be
a
better
place.

Everyone
was
watching
her,
as
though
waiting
for
her
to
make
a
decision.
It
warmed
her,
made
her
feel
part
of
the
team.
She
nodded.

“So
it’s
agreed—we’re
going
after
the
priest,”
Rico
said.
“Good,
I
never
liked
the
slimy
bastard.”

Once
the
decision
was
made,
the
meeting
appeared
to
be
over
and
people
drifted
away.
Alex
knew
she
should
get
up
and
leave,
but
instead,
she
stayed
seated
as
one
by
one
the
others
left
the
room,
until
only
she
and
Jon
remained.
He
stood
watching
her,
hands
shoved
in
his
pockets,
his
face
blank,
so
she
had
no
clue
what
he
was
thinking.

Suddenly,
she
felt
shy
as
she
remembered
what
they’d
done
together.
Her
eyes
were
continually
drawn
to
his
mouth,
and
little
shivers
of
pleasure
ran
along
her
nerve
endings.
She
did
her
best
to
ignore
them
as
she
tried
to
persuade
herself
to
get
up
and
leave.

“I
have
something
for
you,”
he
said,
breaking
the
silence
that
stretched
between
them.

“You
do?”

He
pulled
his
hand
out
of
his
pocket
and
held
up
a
small
disc.
“Here.”

Alex
took
it
from
his
outstretched
hand,
turned
it
over
in
her
fingers.
The
disc
was
plain,
unmarked.
“What
is
it?”

“Information.
Don’t
use
it
unless
you
have
to
and
don’t
tell
anyone
you
have
it.
I
just
thought,
if
anything
happens
to
the
rest
of
us—if
you’re
ever
left
alone
and
the
Church
is
still
after
you…”
He
shrugged,
looked
uncertain.
“Anyway,
I
just
wanted
to
give
you
this—it
might
come
in
useful.”

Without
waiting
for
an
answer,
he
strode
from
the
room,
leaving
Alex
staring
after
him.

Chapter
Fourteen

The
cathedral
was
packed.
The
air
thick
with
the
stench
of
too
many
bodies
mixed
with
the
heavy,
sweet,
cloying
scent
of
incense.
The
light
was
dim.
Outside
darkness
had
fallen,
but
inside
a
thousand
candles
cast
their
flickering
light,
adding
to
the
almost
unbearable
heat.

It
was
Christmas
Eve,
according
to
Alex
one
of
the
biggest
festivals
of
the
Church’s
year.
When
some
guy
called
Jesus
was
born.
Jon
didn’t
give
a
shit.
He
just
wanted
to
pick
up
the
priest
and
get
the
hell
out
of
there.

On
the
bench
beside
him,
Rico
twitched.
The
vampire’s
jaw
was
set,
and
his
fists
clenched
at
his
sides.
Despite
the
place
being
full
to
bursting,
the
people
around
them
had
somehow
managed
to
inch
away,
leaving
a
good
space
around
them.
Even
so,
he
could
see
Rico
was
making
them
nervous.

“What’s
the
problem?”
he
whispered.

Rico
turned
to
face
him,
lips
curled
in
a
sneer.
“Nothing,”
he
snarled.
“Why?
Do
I
look
like
I
have
a
problem?”

“Hell
yeah.
We’re
supposed
to
be
blending
with
the
crowd.
You’re
scaring
the
shit
out
of
them.
Lay
off
the
dead-guy
vibes.”

Rico
flashed
a
fang
and
growled
low
in
his
throat.
For
a
moment,
Jon
thought
the
vampire
might
attack
him
right
here.
Then
Rico
took
a
deep
breath,
and
the
tension
eased
from
him.

“Sorry.”
Rico
shrugged.
“I
hate
churches.
They
have
a
bad
effect
on
me.”

“What’s
up
with
that?”
Jon
was
curious.
Rico
usually
gave
the
impression
of
being
laid
back
to
the
extreme.
He
was
anything
but
laid
back
now.
Jon
hated
the
Church
as
well.
They
had
been
indirectly
responsible
for
the
slaughter
of
his
pack—stirring
up
the
local
community
into
a
senseless
mob.
But
he
didn’t
really
blame
them—he
blamed
himself.

Rico
settled
back
on
the
bench
and
made
a
visible
effort
to
relax.
“I
grew
up
in
a
time
when
the
Church
was
very
powerful—even
more
than
now—and
even
back
then
they
were
assholes.”
He
went
silent
for
a
moment.
“They
murdered
my
wife,
said
she
was
a
witch
and
burned
her
alive.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t
be.
It
was
a
long
time
ago.
And
they
all
died
much
worse
deaths
than
Maria.”

“My
wife
was
killed
in
the
attack
that
turned
me.”
One
more
person
he’d
failed
to
protect.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t
be.
It
was
a
long
time
ago.
And
they
all
died
much
worse
deaths
than
Sarah.”

Rico
laughed.
The
sound
held
no
amusement,
but
at
least
the
air
around
him
no
longer
vibrated
with
tension.

“Anyway,”
Jon
said,
“I
thought
your
lot
couldn’t
enter
churches.
Aren’t
you
allergic
to
holy
ground
or
something?”

“To
some
extent.
But
it’s
not
really
the
place
or
the
thing—it’s
the
person
in
control
of
it,
if
they
believe.
My
guess
is
the
guy
in
charge
of
this
show
doesn’t
believe
shit.”

He
raised
his
hand
and
held
it
out.
The
faint
mark
of
a
cross
showed
on
his
palm.
“That’s
from
Alex’s
cross.”

Jon’s
gaze
flashed
to
the
vampire’s
face.
“When
did
you
get
anywhere
near
Alex’s
cross?”

Rico
grinned.
“The
day
Bastion
attacked
her.
She
wasn’t
wearing
it
at
the
time.”

“Good.
Anyway,
Alex
doesn’t
believe
in
this
stuff.”
He
waved
at
the
church
around
him.
“She
might
have
had
to
pretend,
but
she
knows
it’s
a
load
of
crap.”

“Does
she?
And
is
it?
If
that’s
the
case,
this
should
never
have
happened.
As
it
is,
I’m
marked
for
life.”

“So
vampires
can
be
hurt?”

“Yeah
we
can
be
hurt,
and
we
can
be
killed
if
you
know
how.
Why,
you
still
thinking
you’d
like
to
have
a
go?”

Jon
opened
his
mouth
to
answer
but
a
commotion
at
the
front
of
the
church
stalled
him.

“Here
they
come,”
Rico
said.

Up
at
the
front
of
the
church
a
procession
wended
its
way
to
the
central
podium.
A
tall
figure
dressed
in
black
robes
broke
away
from
the
mass
and
climbed
the
steps
to
address
the
congregation.

Jon
clenched
his
teeth
as
a
rush
of
hatred
hit
him
headlong
and
every
instinct
screamed
to
take
the
priest
down.
But
wolves
who
acted
rashly
on
their
instincts
didn’t
live
long.
A
balancing
act
had
to
be
learned:
when
to
temper
the
wolf’s
strengths
with
man’s
ability
to
reason
logically.
Though
logic
had
never
really
been
a
strong
suit
of
his…

It
had
felt
so
good
to
shift.
He
realized
he’d
missed
the
sheer
exhilaration
of
his
other
form.
After
his
pack
was
killed,
he’d
turned
wolf
and
stayed
in
that
form
until
he’d
dealt
with
his
grief
and
guilt.
Then
he’d
shifted
back
and
done
what
he
needed
to
do
to
come
to
terms
with
what
had
happened.
He’d
hunted
down
those
responsible
and
killed
them.
But
still
he’d
found
no
peace.
After
that,
he’d
lived
among
men
and
avoided
changing.
And
he’d
sworn
never
to
have
another
pack.

“That
him?”
Rico
asked,
dragging
Jon
from
the
past.

“Yes.”

Rico
raised
his
hand
and
pointed
a
finger
at
the
priest.
Skylar
stood
by
the
door
at
the
back
of
the
church
and
nodded
when
she
saw
the
gesture.

“
Christos
,
this
guy
is
boring,”
Rico
muttered
a
few
minutes
later.

“Imagine
growing
up
having
to
listen
to
this
shit
every
day.”

Rico
grinned.
“Yeah,
it’s
a
wonder
Alex
hasn’t
turned
out
even
weirder
than
she
is.
This
stuff
is
enough
to
drive
anyone
crazy.”

But
Alex
wasn’t
crazy;
she
was
strong.
Jon
still
found
it
hard
to
believe
she’d
killed
one
of
those
men.
When
he’d
seen
her,
she’d
looked
near
dead,
and
the
panic
he’d
felt
when
he’d
thought
he
was
too
late
had
nearly
made
him
lose
control.

They’d
come
to
check
out
it
was
actually
Hezrai
Fischer
taking
the
service.
Now,
Skylar
was
to
contact
him,
pretend
to
be
a
representative
of
the
Collective,
lull
him
into
a
sense
of
security
while
Jon
and
Rico
worked
out
how
to
join
them—no
way
would
Jon
get
past
security.

But
having
achieved
their
objective,
there
was
no
reason
to
stay
and
listen
to
this
crap.
“Let’s
get
out
of
here.
We
can
wait
for
Skylar
outside.”
Without
waiting
for
an
answer,
he
got
to
his
feet
and
headed
out,
pushing
his
way
past
the
people
in
the
pew
nearest
to
him.
The
place
was
packed.
All
these
people
drawn
here
by
the
false
promise
of
eternity.

Pathetic.

He
breathed
in
deeply
as
he
came
out
into
the
relatively
fresh
air.
The
cathedral
was
at
the
very
center
of
the
planet’s
main
city,
at
the
intersection
of
the
four
major
walkways
where
a
fog
of
speeder
fumes
hung
like
mist,
swirling
in
the
overhead
lights.

Across
the
way,
a
young
woman
stood
watching
him.
Small
and
slender,
she
wore
a
bright
pink
jumpsuit,
knee-length
boots,
and
a
laser
pistol
strapped
to
her
waist.
Her
blond
hair
hung
down
her
back.

“Shit,”
he
muttered,
striding
across
the
busy
street.
“Which
part
of
‘don’t
leave
the
shuttle’
did
you
not
understand?”