Hunter's Rise (39 page)

“Wait,” she whispered, her eyes dark and tortured.

“Wait?” He shook his head. “He can’t be left alive, Syl.”

The boy-man laughed, the sound depraved and mocking. “No, no… we can’t have that. Never mind that it’s her fault I’m like this, right… Sada?”

Although he was watching the vampire, Toronto saw her flinch.

“It is my fault,” she said quietly. “And that’s why I’ll be the one to finish it. And we’re not going to play cat-and-mouse either, Christopher. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

As she went to move, Toronto caught her arm. He saw the furred gray of his clawed hand and he swore. Grappling with the wild, angry power of the wolf, he called it back inside. It went reluctantly, the fur sinking back into his skin— the wolf wasn’t quite done burning off his rage, either.

Bones realigned, shifted, broke and reformed. Toronto just couldn’t stand to see his wolf’s hands on her— those hands were tools of violence. Just violence. Setting his jaw, he said quietly, “You don’t need to do this. Whatever happened all those years ago wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. In some part, whether I was completely to blame or not, it was my fault… he died because he tried to
help me. And I mocked him. Threw his kindness in his face. This is my last kindness for him… he won’t be tortured or played with, Toronto, and I don’t want to listen to him scream. I’ve heard his screams in my nightmares already.” She shifted her gaze back to Kit. “Come on, then.”

With a sneer, Kit started for her, moving with lazy ease, despite the injuries he’d taken. He had enough years in him that he could function despite the pain. “Don’t worry, Sada… I won’t be too hard on you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t accept the kindness you tried to offer, Christopher,” she said softly. “Or the apologies. I accept it now, and I offer my own.”

“It’s Kit.” He glared at her. “Christopher died the day you attacked me. The day he changed me. The day he killed Sol… and you can shove your apology up your ass, bitch.”

He lunged for her. Sylvia met the lunge with one of her own. She’d been aiming for his heart— quick and simple, get it done. He needed to die— she knew that. And she wanted to tell him she was sorry. She’d done that. It was time to end it.

But he was fast… very fast, especially considering he was wounded. Dark, near-black blood trickled down his belly, his legs, leaving little streaks and puddles wherever he went. She couldn’t hope for that to slow him down or trip him up. Whatever Christopher had been doing the past century, he hadn’t just been lying around or changing murdering psychotics— the vamp knew how to fight.

He evaded each strike, moving away with ease, circling her. She didn’t get the method of madness, though, until it was too late.

When Toronto had been at the cabin, he’d been loaded for bear. Or crazed vamp. He’d had numerous knives on that sleek body of his, although she didn’t know why he bothered. His wolf form was a weapon in and of itself. When he’d shifted, the sheaths had ripped, as had his clothes, and all those weapons were now on the floor.

Idiot, idiot, idiot—

If she’d just let Toronto kill him, this would be done.

But now Christopher— Kit— had a blade in each hand.

Sylvia always had one advantage over a lot of
her targets— she was smaller and could use her body in ways they couldn’t, despite their speed, despite their strength. Agility was a wonderful thing.

Kit had all her agility and more.

He circled around again, twirling one of his stolen blades. It was the one that was red and wet with his own blood. “Come on. Let’s see how much
I
can make
you
bleed now. Will you bleed as much as I did, Sada?”

“Sada died that day as well,” she said softly.

He sneered. “Don’t make it sound like you’re sorry. You kept throwing that in my face, remember?”

Don’t tell me you’re sorry, boy…

“Sylvia.”

She didn’t dare turn to look at Toronto. But the sound of his voice steadied her. “Just get it done,” he said quietly.

Kit threw him an ugly look and then swung his head back around to look at her.

It was almost comical… the way he opened his mouth, that twisted look of hate on his face. And how it all froze as he looked back at Toronto, a cartoonish sort of double take.

It was so… strange that Sylvia found herself following his look. He took a step toward Toronto, one small staggering step.

What is this?
She held herself ready, certain he was trying to set her up. But the rage had leeched out of him. And the glitter of madness seemed to be fading from his eyes, leaving what looked like nothing more than a lost, lonely boy.

“Your arm,” he whispered, staring at Toronto, dazed. A soft, broken little sound left him and he sounded like the boy he had been. “You… you have a scar on your arm.”

Toronto narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. Sylvia, end it. Now. Or I’m doing it.”

“Solomon?”

Toronto’s lids flickered.

And Sylvia stared. Her heart kicked up in her chest and she found herself looking into those pale, silvery blue eyes. They were icy and distant now, as they had been all night. But always before today, when he had looked at her, it had
been with humor or heat or hunger… or all three. Sometimes with a little bit of frustration thrown in.

No… She started to close her eyes, but Kit moved and she jerked up her blade. He wasn’t coming toward her, though. Like a man caught in a dream, he shuffled toward Toronto.

“You get any closer, and I’m going to gut you,” Toronto warned.

Gut you…

Unable to help herself, she shifted her gaze to the wolf, as well. Staring at those pale, silvery blue eyes.

I’ll gut you for this… you’re a fucking dead man.

No, boy.
You
are. But since you’re such a little fighter, I’ll make you get the sort of death you deserve. A bloody one.

She saw a face, one that swam up from the depths of her memory. She rarely thought of him. He hadn’t been the one to take her to Harold. Hadn’t been the one to lie, or the one to promise to get her free, or the one to die under her hands.

He simply hadn’t mattered to her.

He had just been a sullen, silent boy who had been almost a man… and he’d been furious when he saw what had become of his friend. The face wasn’t right. But it wouldn’t be, would it?

I was a teenager when I was bitten. Five weres attacked me…

A teenager. Thrown to a pack of werewolves, by all logic, he
should
have died. Harold had promised him a bloody, painful death. He’d been thrown to a pack of feral wolves… did it get much bloodier? Much more painful?

“Shit,” Sylvia whispered. The sound of her own voice jerked her out of her stupor and she looked up in time to see Kit taking another stumbling step in Toronto’s direction.

He responded by twirling one of the knives he held. “Vampire, I’m about ready to cut you into ten different pieces. Come any closer, and it’s going to happen— I’ll start with your dick.”

“Your arm,” Kit babbled. It was like he didn’t even seem to realize Toronto had said anything. “That scar on your
arm. It’s from when we broke into the warehouse— right after he dragged us here from San Francisco. I sewed you up, right and proper, don’t you remember?”

A muscle twitched in Toronto’s cheek, his lashes sweeping low to shield his eyes.

Swallowing, Sylvia said softly, “He doesn’t remember his past, Christopher. He was attacked by feral werewolves here in Toronto over a century ago. He doesn’t remember anything before his attack. All he has is what happened after.”

“You…” Kit sagged, going to his knees. “Harold said he threw you to the wolves. That’s what you deserved for trying to get him after what he did to me. He’d let you fight for your death.”

Sylvia watched as something flashed through Toronto’s eyes— shock. This… this just wasn’t happening.

“Christopher, I—”

She never had a chance to finish her sentence. The blackish red blood was already spreading across the floor. Toronto lowered one of the blades he’d carried— the long one, nearly the length of his forearm, more a short sword than a knife, and wicked sharp.

Kit’s head lay a few feet away from the toes of Sylvia’s boots. “What…?”

He’d just…

No.

Staring at Christopher’s decapitated body, she closed her eyes. The image of it was burned on the inside of her retinas and she knew she’d see that for a good, long while. This not-boy had been a monster… she knew that. She’d spent a century blaming herself for his death, yet he hadn’t died. Instead, he’d let himself become like the man who’d made them. Evil.

But still… once upon a time, he’d tried to help her. This had happened because he’d tried to save her.

Swallowing around the knot in her throat, she swung her gaze around to Toronto and found that he was doing the same thing she’d been doing— watching Christopher’s lifeless body.

The odd, detached look on his face bothered her a hell of
a lot more than it should have, she decided. Especially since they were supposed to just walk away…

“Why did you do that?” she demanded. “He could have given you answers— he knew who you were, damn it!”

“I know who I am,” Toronto said quietly. “I’m a fucking Hunter and I had a monster to put down.”

“He…” She wanted to argue with him.

“He what?” Blue eyes flashed as he glared at her.

Sylvia stared at him, uncertain of what she was even going to say. Damn it, she knew how this would play out. She’d come here with the sole intention of making sure the man who’d made Pulaski a vamp would die. People who could turn serial killers into vamps were a unique breed of monster. She knew that. But this… shit. Turning away, she went to shove a hand through her hair only to come across the sticks holding it in a topknot. Pulling the sticks out, she tucked them into an inner pocket of her jacket and stared at the wall.

She could remember the strange expression on Toronto’s face the few times he’d made any reference to his past. It bothered him, that emptiness. She knew it.

Turning back to him, she saw that he was still watching, still waiting.

“He what?” Toronto asked, his voice deceptively soft. “He wasn’t a fucking monster? Is that what you want to tell me?

“No.” Shaking her head, she held his gaze. “I get that.”

Like she hadn’t even spoken, Toronto said, “He was involved in the shit going on back in Memphis. Involved up to his neck.”

“I understand.” Swallowing, she shifted her gaze down to the ruin of a body on the floor and tried to think. “He was twisted. And he was sick— I don’t know how anybody could survive under Harold and still be sane.”

“You managed,” Toronto said, his voice hardly more than a growl. “And don’t
tell
me that you’re a monster— if you can’t see the difference between
you
and
him
, you’re a fucking idiot. You don’t strike me as an idiot, Sylvia— Sada. Shit, I don’t even know what to call you.”

“My name is Sylvia.” She took a deep breath and focused on his face. “It’s the name I chose for myself— Sada
did
die. I’m no longer who she was.”

Still watching her closely, Toronto nodded. “I get that he had a rough time of it after he was changed. But so did you, and you didn’t let it make you into a monster. A lot of us go through hell and come through it sane. Sometimes we do it on our own. Sometimes we have help. But he gave into the madness. Any shred of humanity he might have had, he gave it up long ago. And he fucking exposed us to mortals. We can’t have that. He was dangerous in too many ways and you know it.”

“I get it.” Shit. She needed to think— had to think. Closing her eyes, she said, “It’s not that. It’s…”

“It’s what, damn it?”

The temper she heard in his voice sparked her own and she lowered her hands, glaring at him. “He knew you!” She stared at him. “Damn it, the only time I’ve seen anything really seem to
get
to you was when you spoke about your past— he had the answers, he could have helped you piece together some of that past and you just killed him.”

Toronto shook his head. “I’ve got a past, Sylvia. I’ve spent the past century making one. It just took me a damn long time to figure out that century is the part of my history that matters. That… and the future I make for myself. He didn’t have any answers I needed to hear.”

And then he stooped down, grabbed the head, lifted it up and stared into wide, dead eyes. “He was sick. You could smell it on him. He was sick and he was crazy. You said you wanted to show him a kindness for the one he tried to show you. The truest kindness you could show him was to end his life before he caused any more pain.”