Hunter Kiss: A Companion Novella (11 page)

his ground.

"No," he tells me in a hard voice. "No, Maxine. This isn't what you think. I know these men. They're regulars here." "There are demons inside of them, Grant."

"I guess I know that
now,"
he replies, but he still does not move, and I tug on his arm. He still pulls back. "No, Maxine. No, I know them.
I
know
those men. They won't hurt me."

"Fuck that," I snarl, finally understanding. Makes me furious. I turn back around to face the zombies, who are still watching us, un
moving. Grant grabs my arm. His fingers are loose-I could break free just by shrugging-but I freeze inside his grip, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw screams with pain.

"One chance," he whispers. "Let me find out what is going on. They'll talk to me, Maxine. They don't know I'm aware of what they are."

"They do now," I retort. "The two of us together? You bet your ass they know."

His mouth hardens. "Let me do this my way."

"Your life, your choice," I snap, but there is heat in my eyes, my throat, and I swallow hard, fighting back the pain. Grant moves in front of me, hiding my face from the zombies, making himself a tar
get. I fight him, afraid, but he presses his fingers against my cheek, stilling me.

"I don't want to die," he breathes. "And I don't want you hurt, Maxine. But you have to trust me."

"I trust you," I tell him. "I just think you're too stupid to live." "Maybe," Grant says. "But God even loves His fools."

He begins to turn away from me. I grab his hand and hold on

tight. Step up to his side. He hesitates, then nods once, mouth curv

ing into a smile that is more intimate than any touch; unspoken, se

cret, a riddle between my heart and his, where the truth is simple

and profound: I belong with him. And he belongs with me.

We walk to the zombies. I loosen my hand. No one tries to attack

us. They stare at Grant, and they stare at me, and I do not under

stand why they look at him with deference in their eyes. Respect.

When they look at me I see fear, hate-which, at least, is something

I understand. I welcome it.

The man with the red cap steps forward. "You shouldn't be here, Mr. Cooperon. Nothing doing that needs your concern."

Big fat lie. I glimpse blood on the tile floor behind their legs. I walk up to the zombies. They do not move. I do not ask. I snap my fingers and point, pouring cold rage into my eyes, making them dead, dead like my mother, like my heart when I think of her. I stare at those demons, unflinching, telling them in silence their futures, and after a moment, they shuffle aside.

I see two young men sprawled on the floor behind them. Bloody, beaten. They are zombies, too. Grant tries to go to them; the man with the red wool cap stretches his arm across the path.

"It's not safe," he rasps. "Bastards came here to hurt you. We caught them outside."

I force the zombie to step back. "You're protecting Grant?"

Red cap says nothing. Just stares at me. Grant says, "Answer her, Rex."

The zombie's lips curl. "You don't know what she is."

"I know she wants to kill you," Grant replies. "You, as in, the de
mon inside of you. The demon I am speaking to. Yes, I'm aware of that now."

"Weren't you always?" Rex narrows his eyes. "Or just that naive? Not that it matters. We still need you. Still ...
want you."

I glance past him at the zombies stretched beaten on the ground. One of them is young, no older than eighteen, with hollow cheeks and brown greasy hair. Red jersey, loose black pants. He hasn't been

1i

possessed for long. A new zombie. Fresh meat. I can tell by the strength of his aura. It's not too late for him.

The other is a different story. An older man with coarse black hair cut through with silver. Deep canyons in his face. Conscious, with a burning gaze. The nimbus around his head is dark as coal, so strong it almost throbs. This one belongs to the demon, heart and soul.

I peer into his eyes. His lips peel back over his yellow teeth; snarling, or just in pain. I do not care, either way. Two other zom
bies crouch close to hold him down.

"Did you come here to hurt Grant?" I ask the beaten zombie, wondering as I do what is wrong with me. I should not be here. Grant should not be here. I should have dragged him out of here the first moment I saw all the zombies in this room. Demons and their hosts cannot be trusted. Ever.

But I do not move. I have to trust Grant. I have to play this out.

The zombie says nothing. I press my palm to his forehead. He fights, and the ones holding him down share a quick uncertain look.

I stare at the man in the red cap. Rex. "You know what I'm go
ing to do to them." My gaze travels over every watching face. "You know what I could do to all of you. Give me a good reason why I shouldn't."

"There's no reason," says Rex.
"Kill
them."

Not the answer I was expecting. Grant rests his hand on my shoulder. "Tell me," he says, his voice still holding that soft ring of command. "Tell me what is going on."

"I think you already know." Rex lifts his chin, regarding him with an edge of defiance that is made weak when he is unable to hold Grant's gaze for more than several seconds. "You and your mu
sic. You remake us. You turn us into ... something else."

"Something worth killing over?" Grant asks.

"Yes," says Rex, and there is a heat in his eyes, a passion, that disarms me, makes my skin crawl. I feel like I am looking at some

one who has found religion-the fanatical type, of any faith, who says yes without question. Worship-yes. Die-yes.
Kill-yes.

Grant leans close. "I'm the one you should be trying to kill. You wouldn't be the first. Here I am. Perfect target."

I want to grab him and run. Rex smiles coldly. "If we wanted you dead, Mr. Cooperon, you
would be dead.
But given what you've done to us, we need you alive. Need you to keep playing your music. Keep making the change."

"Change into what?" I ask. "You know what you are. What could Grant
possibly
give you,
ever,
that you would want?"

"Freedom," Rex says, giving me a hard look. "Freedom from our queen."

The boys stir against my skin, tossing in their sleep. I grind my teeth. "Your queen is locked behind the veil. She has no hold over you."

"And you would know?" Rex shakes his head. "You are a Hunter. You kill us, but you know nothing about us."

"I don't have to," I snap. Grant's hand squeezes, but I shrug him off, pointing at the zombies being held down on the ground. "Not everyone feels the way you do. Some are terrified. Some run. Some fight. What makes all of you so different?"

Emotion flickers in the zombie's narrow grizzled gaze. The aura above his head is the weakest shadow I have ever seen a zombie pos
sess, but I do not take it as proof or comfort. The darkness is still there. The demon inside that man knows it.

He is making a choice,
whispers a voice inside my head.
He is choosing to be something else. Something different than he was born to be.

And the thing about choices, I remember, is that not everyone

makes the same one.

Grant takes a slow deep breath. "Why do you want freedom

from this ... this queen?"

"Why does anyone want to be free?" Rex gives him a wary look.

w
1,

"She controls us, commands us, sees through our eyes all that we see. Even now she watches, everywhere with us, feeding, taking what we take and using it to make her strong. That is all she cares about, being strong." He touches his head, tapping it twice. "I can feel her. She wants me to kill you."

"Then why resist?" Grant asks. "Why fight for me?"

"Because your music does something to us. You dull the link. Quiet the hunger."

"But it's there," I say, unable to look away from the shadow of that aura. "You still crave the pain your hosts provide."

"I crave yours," Rex says, and Grant steps right up into the zom
bie's face, knocking him back with a hard shove-surprising everyone, including me. I wait for them to strike back, but not a one-not even Rex-so much as twitches. Even I feel the pressure to stay still, anything to avoid the terrible focus of the man beside me.

"You don't touch her," Grant says, in a voice so cold and strong it cuts. "You never touch her. None of you. And if anyone else tries, you stop them. Protect her like you protected me."

"No," Rex whispers, a light sweaty sheen covering his forehead. "No, we will. not do that."

"Then get out," Grant tells him. "Go back to your queen."

Rex shuts his eyes. "She'll kill us. If your influence fades and she regains control-"

"I gave you a choice. Promise not to hurt Maxine. Or leave It's easy."

"You're asking too much of them," I say. "You don't know thf history of my kind and theirs."

"I know they want to be human." Grant tilts his head, eyes nar rowed. "Isn't that right, Rex? All of you crave something more More than just being ... what was it, Maxine?
Parasites?"

Don't push them, I
beg silently, but Rex does not retaliate. Hi

shuffles backward, the rest of the zombies moving with him, drag

ging the two on the ground. I run after them, falling to my knees over the young man in the jersey. I drag my hand against his fore
head, hook the demon squirming inside his unconscious body, and yank hard. It feels like pulling a raw chicken apart with my bare hands: juicy, cold, dirty. The demon wisp writhes, screaming, beg
ging his brothers for help, but the zombies look on, glancing at each other, shifting from foot to foot. I do not say a word. Just slap the fighting cloud against my forearm, the mouth tattooed there, and apply pressure.

Aaz stirs, dreamily. The demon screams. And then, after a mo
ment, stops. No time wasted-I reach out to the other man, who is still conscious, and exorcise him as well. He fights, but not hard enough, slumping into a deep sleep the moment I make the hook. This time I feed the demon to my other arm. Raw sucks him in.

I look at the zombies, at Rex, who is watching me with cold dis
passion. "Leave them."

"No trust?" Rex smiles, reaches beneath the jersey of the young man, and pulls out a handgun. Taps the barrel against his forehead and tucks the weapon into the deep pocket of his jacket. He backs away, and the others follow. No talking, no dissent. Just like the zom
bies at Pike Place. Working together. Cooperating. Sharing territory.

Except this time all the zombies but Rex look uneasy, afraid
and not just of me.

"Our queen wants you dead, because she fears your power," Rex says, as the men reach the metal double doors. He stands there, framed by the other zombies, his red hat askew over his grizzled head. His eyes are dark, burning. Grant steps close, his hand brush
ing against mine, our fingers tangling as the zombie watches on, eyes narrowing. He shifts his gaze to me. "But if the two of you are to
gether ... maybe she's right."

Just not right enough for Rex to do anything about it. He gets out, fast, followed by the others, who hesitate a fraction longer

before following. Maybe some second thoughts, after all. That queen of theirs, Blood Mama, must be a big bad bitch to make me
the sole executioner of their kind-look appealing.

Grant lets out a long slow breath, staring at the door. I glance at him sideways. "What happened to Mr. Love and Kindness?"

"I have my limits."

"They wouldn't have been able to hurt me. You could have used them."

He glances down at my stomach. "I wasn't thinking in the short term, Maxine."

I look away, rubbing my neck. "And what if you get hurt?" "I thought you didn't trust them."

"They needed you. That makes its own kind of trust."

"They still need me, Maxine. And if they need me bad enough, they'll come back."

"Which, of course, leads to the problem of what happens after they're done getting what they want."

"One thing at time." Grant sighs, then says, softly, "I knew those men, Maxine. I was making progress. And I still ... I still believe that they can be helped.
I want
to help them."

"You have helped them," I admit grudgingly. "You've made progress. Enough progress that they decided to save your life. That's something, Grant. I never thought I'd see the day."

Grant squeezes my hand, looking down at the two men sprawled at our feet. "Will they remember anything of what just happened?"

"Not likely. You've heard of selective amnesia and lost time, right?" I raise my eyebrow. "Bingo."