Hunter's Prey: Bloodhounds, Book 2 (13 page)

Had
been happier.

By the time she reached the top step, Hunter had gathered his jacket and opened the front door. She leaned against the railing and watched him go, her thoughts already centered on his return.

Hunter hadn’t been back to Sylvie’s since the new moon, but he wasn’t surprised to find Tobias there. The brothel had the best liquor and prettiest ladies in Iron Creek, not to mention the highest stake card games.

It was exactly the sort of place Hunter himself had all but lived, and maybe it was a sign of progress that he didn’t think of it as the sort of place
Matthew
had enjoyed.

He found Tobias grinning across a table at Sylvie, a hand of cards held close to his vest. “You’re nigh unto impossible to read, Miss Sylvie. I’m impressed.”

“I was beating bloodhounds at cards before you’d seen a woman naked, Tobias.” Sylvie flashed Hunter a grin, one so friendly you wouldn’t think he’d damn near torn apart her bedroom in an attempt to throw her out of it. “The liquor helps. Are you here for a drink, Hunter?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Sylvie. I came to see if Tobias is interested in turning his attention to some honest work.”

Tobias threw down his cards with a long-suffering sigh. “Is he always this much fun?”

“You were just gonna lose to me anyway, sweetheart. Think of him as your savior.”

“Ah, but what if I didn’t want to be saved from you?”

Sylvie kept on beaming at the damn man like she’d never met anyone half so charming, which improved Hunter’s mood not one jot. “You can come back and flirt when we’re done,” he grumbled, ignoring the amused look Sylvie shot him. “It won’t take that long.”

Tobias rose and nodded to Sylvie one last time before dropping his hat on his head. He laughed as he followed Hunter to the door. “You’re awful sour, you know. Why is that?”

The question irritated him, so he answered it truthfully. “I spent a few months in a cage being fed on by vampires. After a bloodhound ripped me to pieces during the full moon and changed me, that is.”

“Guess that’d do it.” Tobias stopped and turned to Hunter, his expression serious. “I did my recon earlier. The cribs over on the dark side of town? One of the girls told me there are regular drug shipments coming through on the train.”

Hunter’s gut knotted. “How regular?”

“She was a little vague about that part.” His jaw clenched. “Vague in a lot of ways. I planned on heading back later, though, after she’s had a chance to sober up. Maybe she can tell me more.”

“Damn.” Hunter rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and glanced up and down the street. “Maybe one of us needs to stay at the sheriff’s office tonight, in case there’s trouble in the town. Some might be too nervous to go up to the manor.”

“I’ll do it.” Tobias shrugged. “Emmett’s busy, and you’re sure the hell not going to let me near that pretty housekeeper without supervision, are you?”

Ophelia could take care of herself. That was the right answer, the one she’d want him to give. “Hell fucking no.”

It made the other hound laugh. “Well, I don’t blame you. I’m a charming bastard.”

“So Sylvie seems to think. Confine your charming attentions to all the willing women at her place, why don’t you?”

“Relax. I’m not out to steal your girl.”

“Wouldn’t be worried if you were,” Hunter lied. Then he unbent enough to smile. “But I’ve been out of my cage for all of a few weeks now, so I’m not making any promises about how rational I’ll be if you poke at me.”

Tobias untied his horse with lazy, unhurried movements. “I’m up for a good fight, but I’d rather it be with the sons of bitches hauling narcotics through Iron Creek.”

“I’ll do my best.” Hunter freed his own mount and swung into the saddle. “If you’ll keep an eye on the shady side of town, I can check everything else and show you around the sheriff’s office. There’s some sort of alarm system that runs from the office to the manor, though I’m not rightly sure how it works. Underground wires, maybe?”

“What about the sheriff?” Tobias flashed him a skeptical look. “You mentioned trouble with the law. Is he going to resent having me there?”

It was only then he realized how little Tobias knew. “Who do you think Wilder and Archer are out chasing? We
are
the law right now.”

But the man only grinned. “Even better. No one in my way, slowing me down.”

Checking the rest of town took longer than Hunter had planned. Not because the shady sorts were out looking for trouble—though they undoubtedly were, and would be in greater numbers in the long nights to come—but because the decent folk of Iron Creek had discovered a sudden yearning for his company and conversation.

Men who usually averted their gazes in his presence called his name from windows cracked open just far enough to let in the evening air. They asked for reassurances and offered their own hollow support in return, reminding Hunter they were great supporters of the Guild and its members. Women who had crossed the street to avoid walking too closely to him last week now smiled as if he alone could save them from whatever crept through the night.

Which was true enough, he supposed, but their shameless pandering only irritated him. They treated him like a beast, one to be soothed with smiles and the scraps of their regard, as if he’d value their acknowledgement and their temporary acceptance. As if they wouldn’t choke on their own spit if they knew he came from the kind of money that could buy their dusty town a half-dozen times over.

Worse, they stole precious minutes he could have spent with Ophelia, and
that
was the unforgivable sin that turned his tolerance to scowls and his assurances to curt answers and swift departures.

By the time he had returned to the manor and taken care of his mount, the crescent moon hung high. He studied it for a moment, the way it cut through the sky like a smile turned on its side, and smiled. From now until the half moon, he might actually feel a bit of peace. Be human enough to court Ophelia, even if courtship involved sleepy conversations after a long ride between the sheets.

He had a week, if nothing else. A week before he had to worry about the slow slide toward the full moon and the return of the beast raging inside him.

He had to turn every free moment of it toward the task of winning her heart.

The manor was quiet when he stepped into the foyer, but a fire burned in the study. Thinking Ophelia had grown weary of awaiting him in her room, he stepped toward the door, recognizing the scent of the room’s occupant a moment too late.

Emmett was already pouring whiskey into two glasses. “Sit.”

Not a request, and Hunter would be a fool to pretend he didn’t know it. Choking back frustration, he hauled off his hat and obediently parked his ass in one of the chairs.

The older hound handed him a glass. “I imagine Harding hasn’t had much time to teach you about the Guild.”

“No,” Hunter admitted, accepting the whiskey without drinking it. “Haven’t really felt the lack, either, what with them not wanting anything to do with me.”

“That’s not precisely true.” Emmett leaned against the plush back of the sofa. “I rather heard they demanded he deliver you and he told them to bugger off.”

Hunter swirled the liquor around the glass, watching as it sloshed against the sides and reflected firelight at him. He trusted Wilder. He had to. The knowledge that the older man was strong enough to keep Hunter from hurting those around him had been his only hint of comfort in the earliest days.

But it was true. He hadn’t had much to say about the Guild. “Is there some reason they’d want me?”
Some reason Wilder would have lied?

“Of course they’d want you. You’re an unknown, an enigma.” Emmett paused to down half his drink. “Hell, maybe they’d just have to open you up. See what makes you tick.”

Just like Nate. Hunter fought a shudder. “Did Wilder put himself in harm’s way by not handing me over?”

Emmett appraised him thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Though if he did, you can rest assured he did it with his eyes wide open.”

The feeling of being studied, of having some unknown quality weighed and measured, was unnerving. “And you’re not here to make him regret it? You’re their representative, aren’t you?”

The corner of Emmett’s mouth kicked up in a quick smile. “That’s a funny word. Means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.”

“What, regret? Or representative?”

Instead of answering, the man set his glass on the end table. “Do you figure on staying in Iron Creek, Hunter? I reckon you just might, on account of Miss Ophelia and all.”

If Wilder had told him the truth about the mating, he hardly had a choice. “There’s nowhere else I care to go.”

Emmett nodded slowly. “So…ask me. Anything you haven’t had a chance to ask Harding, or anything you think he might not tell you. I will, even if it scares the shit out of you.”

Frustration and impatience melted away, banished by the possibility of
answers
. The truth, as much of it as he was brave enough to ask for—

—or Emmett’s version of it. It could still be a trap. But Nate seemed to trust the old man, and Hunter trusted Nate. “Tell me about the new moon. How bad it should be, and what it means for a woman we’ve…fixated on.”

Emmett shook his head. “Not much to tell, except that you can’t shy away from it. The more you fight, the crazier you’ll get. And if you’ve fixated on a mate—wanted or no—you’d best be sure she welcomes you, or you haven’t begun to know pain.”

He met Emmett’s gaze squarely and downed the whiskey. “Tell me if it can go wrong. For her.”

“Depends on what you mean, and what you think the problem might be.”

Hunter turned his glass over in his hands, and finally looked away. “They keep telling me not to worry. That I can’t hurt her. I don’t think I’ll believe everyone rushing to tell me I
won’t
hurt her unless someone admits that I could.”

“You’re likelier to hurt someone who got between you. Who was keeping you from her. But in the end, you’re capable of the same atrocities as any jealous or spurned lover.” Emmett leaned forward, a deadly serious light in his eyes. “I’ve seen hounds have to be put down because a woman wanted nothing more to do with ’em. I’ve seen others die slow, but no less sure. The beast isn’t what decides which one you’d be, Hunter.”

Hunter nodded and looked to the floor again. “What about during the full moon? Will the beast know her?”

“Should. Hard to say, though, what with you being new. If you’re worried about it, best to err on the side of caution.”

It wasn’t an easy, trite assurance. Perversely, it steadied Hunter. He glanced up at Emmett and raised one eyebrow. “What’s the worst thing I wouldn’t know enough to ask?”

The older man focused on the fire and stared at it, unseeing. “You’re going to live longer. Too long. You’ll have to watch people you love die. That’s the worst thing no one ever thinks to ask, and the most important.”

The fire snapped. Hunter listened to the tiny crackles until the silence between them had grown heavy.

To live too long. He studied Emmett’s weathered face again, catalogued his gray hair and craggy features, and tried to imagine how many decades he had to his name. Seven? Eight? But Wilder had five or more himself, and he still looked like a man in his prime.

One had only to watch Wilder watching Satira to know he’d follow her into death more readily than he’d linger without her. How many years had Emmett lived without that connection? If he’d found love, surely he would have faded, just as the last bloodhound to hold the manor had perished within a few years of Satira’s mother.

Mating Ophelia might have been a mistake, and it might still make fools of them both. She might still leave him. But better to die before his time, sick from the loss of her, than linger forever alone.

Pity swelled, and Hunter swallowed hard. “What does the Guild offer that makes people like you choose this life?”

“Your friend Wilder can walk, right? A heady thing to a man who’d lost his legs, I imagine. And I wasn’t there, but I heard Archer’d lost his eyesight.” Emmett sighed. “They break a man down and rebuild him. The trick is, they pick damn near broken men to start.”

“I reckon they’d have to.” It explained the weight in Wilder’s gaze, and the darkness Archer couldn’t hide behind a thousand ribald comments. “There’s more I need to know, without a doubt, but it’s been a long day. If you don’t mind, I’ll turn in now.”

Emmett wrapped a trembling hand around the whiskey bottle and began to refill his glass. “You be my guest.”

Chapter Ten

It was past midnight when a knock sounded on Ophelia’s door. She slipped from her bed and crossed the room to unlatch the chain. “I thought you might not be coming.”

Hunter looked exhausted. His damp hair clung to his neck in tiny curls. He wore a loose shirt, untucked and open at the neck, baring skin and the dark hair on his chest. No boots, no belt, just hastily donned pants and a tired smile. “Seeing as how I visited the slums three times tonight, I thought a bath would be wise. And polite.”

“You look…” She combed her fingers through the hair at his temple. “Like you could use twelve hours of sleep, honestly.”

“Or eight hours with a pretty woman cuddled up against me,” he suggested. “If I’m still welcome…”

Suddenly, Ophelia was glad she hadn’t bothered with anything dressier than a simple silk nightgown. She stepped back and slid under the covers, patting the spot beside her. “Lower the lights before you come to bed.”

Hunter shut the door and turned to fiddle with the panel, frowning at the controls until he’d managed to plunge the room into darkness. “Too much?”

“I don’t mind the dark.” She could barely see him, outlined by the scant moonlight filtering through the curtains. “How did your patrols go?”

He moved silently, as if he had little trouble seeing. Fabric rustled, and the edge of the bed dipped. Moonlight hit his skin as he tugged his shirt over his head and slid next to her, his body so warm she felt the heat before he touched her. “It’s…irritating. I’ve lost my patience for fools.”