Hunter's Salvation (2 page)

No, Officer. I didn't see anybody.

Yes, Officer, I'm sure I didn't hear anything.

Did I see anybody suspicious? Officer, it's Friday night. I've had a long week, and I was here trying to relax and have a good time.

Vax had been forced to burn the werecreature. Their kind couldn't go on an autopsy table, and considering that she'd died from a knife in the chest, that's exactly where they would have put her. Damn it all, though. He had a bad feeling about that thing. She felt unnatural. But now he'd never know why. Couldn't get too much from a scorched spot on the ground.

“You lie pretty well for a good little Irish Catholic,” Vax said, glancing at Kendall as he continued probing at Kane's thigh. The gouges were the kind he would expect to see on somebody who'd been mauled by a were, but Kane was a vampire. They should have been healing better than this.

The edges of each furrow were an inflamed, angry shade of red. Fortunately Kane had stopped bleeding. Vamps could bleed to death—it just wasn't common. They healed too quickly, so in order to make one bleed out, it usually took a sustained series of injuries, making the vampire bleed from numerous places over a long period of time. It was usually faster to bleed them enough to weaken them, and then cut out the heart.

“Why isn't he healing?” Kendall was pacing the floor, her fingers fiddling nervously with the strand of black pearls around her neck.

“Not real sure, sweetheart,” Vax muttered, distracted. The scent of magick had faded, so the cause wasn't anything that were had done to poison Kane.

“You're not real sure about anything tonight.”

“Sure I am. I'm sure that the woman was something I've never seen before. I'm sure she used to be human. I'm also sure she was using magick and if I wasn't a witch myself, I'd be ash right now. Now shut up and let me concentrate.” He probed the wound again, disturbed by the persistent slow bleeding.

Kane hissed out a breath as Vax pressed down on one of the gouges. “Damn it, you sick bastard. That hurt.” He smacked at Vax's hand and said, “I thought witches were supposed to be better at this kind of thing. Your bedside manner sucks.”

With a grunt, Vax muttered, “I'm a witch, not a nurse. Pipe down.” Vax finally gave up looking for some plausible explanation as to why Kane wasn't healing. “This is going to hurt. Be still.” He laid his hands over the wounds and called upon his weak Healing talent.

Kane's body jerked. From the corner of his eye, Vax saw Kendall move up, wrapping her arms around Kane's shoulders. Kane moaned, a tortured sound that made Vax feel guilty as hell. His hands fell away from Kane's thigh, revealing four shiny pink scars. He looked into Kane's dazed eyes and said, “Sorry. Healing isn't something I've ever been very good at.”

“At least it healed.” Kane's voice was hoarse, and he looked up at Kendall. “Get me some water, will you?”

After grabbing a cup from the bathroom and filling it from the faucet, she brought to Kane and sat down on the edge of the bed, cuddling against him. She looked at Vax, though. “You don't know what she was?”

“A shape-shifter gone wrong.” That was his best guess, and it was no explanation at all. How had she gotten stuck between forms?

“She used magick. I felt it.”

Kane spoke up. “I saw it. She used fire, man. Shape-shifters can't use fire.”

Vax shook his head. “No. No, they can't. I smelled the magick at the same time I smelled blood. I don't understand it, though.”

“Maybe she was a witch and she got bit?” Kane offered. He lifted the cup to his lips and drained it. When Kendall offered more, he shook his head. “Tastes like crap.”

She stood up and dug some money out of her pocket. “I'll get a bottle from the vending machines. You need fluids.”

Kane watched her leave before looking back at Vax. “So?”

Vax scowled and drove a hand through his hair. “That's not it. Most witches are immune to a werewolf's bite. The few who aren't—well, they just shift to wolf. They have no trouble shifting. This one, she looked like she was stuck between forms.”

“She looked like something out of a nightmare,” Kane said softly, staring down at his mauled leg. “What about a crossbreed? A witch got knocked up by a were? Were blood can pass through the genes just like other shifters, right?”

“Not often. God's way of controlling our numbers. The last thing this world needs is a bunch of weres roaming around that can control fire. You control it, it's a lot less likely to kill you. There just aren't that many crossbreeds. Very, very few offspring are born with the talents of both parents. Besides, she didn't feel…” Vax's voice trailed off as he tried to find words to describe it. Finally, he just finished lamely, “She didn't feel natural.”

Kendall came back inside at that point. She had heard the entire conversation as she used the machine across the hall. “I felt that, too. Something just didn't feel right.”

“Does evil ever feel right?” Kane asked, accepting the bottle from his wife and opening it with a flick of his wrist. After he drained half the bottle, he said, “I didn't feel anything.”

“Takes time. You've only been a vampire a few years. Sensitivity to magick takes decades,” Vax said shortly. In time, Kane would be as sensitive to magick, shifters, and weres as he was to the scent of blood. He'd learn to sense evil and all the subtleties within it.

Strong vamps could detect the presence of another predator, and Kane was definitely in that category. In a few decades, he'd know a shifter from a were and a witch from a psychic.

Well, he had a heads-up on the psychic one. Kane was one of few people with true psychic powers, the ability to sense thoughts without the use of magick as an aid. Wasn't the same as magick, any more than a shifter was the same as a werewolf. Werewolves
were
shape-shifters, but their powers were linked to the waxing and waning of the moon. All but the most powerful werewolf had to shift on the full moon. It wasn't a desire, but a need.

Shifters, though, weren't weakened by the moon's call. Some of them would feel it but they could control the desire to shift on a full moon. Weres couldn't. Whether it had something to do with being born a shifter versus made a were, nobody really knew.

Shape-shifters were born and they learned control from birth. Although weres could breed and pass the power on through the father's side, a natural were usually didn't come into the ability to shift until later in life.

Thinking about the were-witch-whatever they had faced was giving Vax a headache and pissing him off, and he wasn't in a good mood anyway. His stomach started rumbling again, and he realized he hadn't ever gotten around to eating anything at the bar. His most recent meal had been last night, and that wasn't good. Witches needed to eat more calories than mortals: their magick burned more energy, and going a day without food was just plain stupid. “Was there anything to eat in those machines?”

Kendall nodded. She was leaning against Kane again and kept touching him, almost as if assuring herself that he was fine.

“I'll be back in a second.”

“Should we order a pizza?” Kane mocked as he watched Vax come back in a few minutes, his hands laden with bags of chips, beef jerky, and crackers.

Kendall rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head a little. “Witches have to eat more. They burn calories almost as fast as shifters and weres do.”

“Learn something new every day.” Kane watched Vax tear into a bag of sour cream potato chips, and he scowled. “I miss Lay's.”

Vax smiled serenely and popped one into his mouth. He crunched down a little more loudly than necessary, and as he swallowed, he smacked his lips. “Yum.”

“Jackass.” But there wasn't much heat in it.

Vax watched as the other man lay back against the bed wearily. “If he isn't feeling more like himself after he feeds, take him to Excelsior. Have Kelsey or somebody take a look at him.”

“I just fed last night,” Kane drawled, not opening his eyes. “And don't you think we have a more pressing matter than your empty stomach and my lack of one? What about a witch who used some sort of shape-shifting spell?”

“Okay, that settles it. I think he belongs at Excelsior even if he does start feeling better,” Vax said with a laugh. Excelsior was their training school. With Kane's age and background, it had been decided he wouldn't benefit too much from spending a full four years there, but apparently there were some things he still needed to learn. Instead of going to school, Kane was placed with Kendall. Kendall was one hell of a trainer, but that wasn't the same thing as a teacher, Vax figured.

“Am I missing something?” Kane asked when Kendall grinned a little.

The bag rattled as Vax dug out a few more chips. He ate them and washed them down with the soft drink. “Yeah, you're missing something, buddy. Shape-shifting spell.” He laughed again and looked at Kendall. “Sweetheart, I realize it was decided that he wouldn't learn much of anything he didn't already know at Excelsior, but you do need to educate him on the basics.”

Kendall laughed a little. “Apparently.”

“What's so amusing?” Kane's voice was edgy and irritated, and when Vax looked at him, he saw that Kane had opened his eyes.

Returning Kane's glare with a grin, Vax said, “Kane, there are no shape-shifting spells. Witches can't shape-shift. As a matter of fact, there are very few actual spells—at least, the kind of spells you'd recognize as a spell.”

“What, there's no way you can skin a werewolf and chant and dance around a fire so you can turn into a wolf?”

Vax cocked a brow. “I've never chanted in my life. And no, there is no way. Witches can't shape-shift any more than we can bring back the dead. We have power inside us and we learn how to harness it, how to use it to bring fire or to move objects by using the air elements. We can Heal. But we can't turn into animals.”

“Okay, so a witch using a shape-shifting spell is out.” Kane shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. He stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I know that when a shifter and a witch mate, there's a fifty-fifty chance the offspring will inherit one of the gifts, or neither. Inheriting both is supposed to be extremely rare, right?”

Vax nodded. He knew the path Kane's mind was taking, and if he hadn't seen the thing, he would have assumed it was a logical path. But he had seen it—
not it, her. It
just seemed more appropriate. But there was no way that creature was the natural result of any union, whether witch, vamp, were, or alien mermaid. It just wasn't possible. He said so as he peeled the wrapper off a piece of jerky.

He bit into it without enthusiasm. He wanted a steak. Bad. Unfortunately the hotel they were holed up in didn't offer room service, and he wasn't leaving just yet.

Kendall replied, “Even if she was the child of a were and a witch, and that's not likely, but even if she was…”

Her voice trailed off, and Vax took up where she left off. “When I said unnatural, I meant unnatural. Maybe she was altered somehow.”

“Altered? You mean, like, mutated?” Kane rubbed a hand over the healed scars on his leg. “This itches like a son of a bitch,” he added, glancing towards Vax.

“Good. Means they are healing.” Vax walked around the edge of the bed and crouched down, studying the wounds closely. “Some sort of mutation. I don't know, that's possible. We need to find out more. Once I know you're feeling better, I'm going to try and track her.”

“Track her,” Kane repeated slowly. “How can you track a corpse—actually, she's less than a corpse. She's ashes. What's left to track?”

With a faint smile, Vax replied, “There's always something to track. In this case, her magick. I'm going to try to track her magick.”

 

T
RY
—yep, he tried to track her and failed miserably.

Back at the bar less than a day later, Vax sensed nothing from the witch/shifter. Even though she was dead, he should have been able to pick up some sort of trail to track, either the thing's scent or the taste of magick in the air.

He spent nearly two weeks trying to uncover more about the woman. But it was as if she had appeared out of nowhere, and now that she was dead, “nowhere” was going to remain off the map.

CANTON, INDIANA
2007

T
HE
honeysuckle was blooming.

Canton Cemetery was an old-fashioned one, nestled in a small valley behind Canton Christian Church. It was the kind with actual tombstones, and surrounded by a white-painted picket fence. The honeysuckle grew profusely in the summer months, covering the pretty white fence. One year, some of the men in the church had decided to cut down the honeysuckle, but the people who had loved ones buried there had argued, and now the honeysuckle was left alone, thinned out only when necessary.

The two sisters had always loved the scent of it. Jess had brought Myranda here for the past eight years, ever since they'd had to put their parents to rest.

Now—Jess closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. Now she had to visit her baby sister here as well.

Randi had been the baby, younger than Jess by nearly ten years.

It just wasn't
right
.

Randi had been the golden girl, smart, sweet, funny. Full of determination and drive, she had been born something special, and she would have become something special.

When most nineteen-year-olds were champing at the bit for some freedom, Randi had been content to stay at home and make the thirty-minute drive to the University of Indianapolis, instead of living on campus and partying. She'd been focused on her studies, dedicated to them. Randi would have graduated in one more year, nearly two years early.

But not now—now she was gone. Her life had ended before it had even really gotten started. But it was so much worse, knowing
how
she had been killed. Raped and killed, the entire sordid thing captured on video. The police had collected dozens of copies of the snuff film, but Jess knew there was no way to ever track all of them down.

Jess would have to live the remainder of her days knowing that any moment some sick pervert might be jerking off as he watched somebody choke the life from her baby sister.

“God, Randi, I'm so sorry,” she whispered. Reaching out, she touched her fingers to the cool, soft pink surface of the marble headstone.

She was also going to have to live with the guilt—because she was the reason Randi had been killed. It had been a message to her.

Jess had been investigating a series of rape/murders that had been taking place in the city, and she'd been getting too close. Some reporters had a nose for a story. Jess had a little more. The sixth sense had served her well her entire life, and when she had first started investigating the serial murders, her gut had told her there was more going on than what they were seeing.

The cops had absolutely no clue, and her gut insisted they were looking in the wrong place.

Jess hadn't thought she was doing much better, but she must have been getting closer to something. Otherwise there was no reason to kill Randi.

I failed you.

Eight years ago, after they'd put their parents in the ground, Jess had promised she'd take care of Randi. That she'd protect her. She'd failed, and nothing would ever change that. Nothing would ever make it better.

Part of Jess wanted to lie down next to Randi's grave and die as well. She'd fallen into a depression so deep that death was the only thing that made sense sometimes. But a stronger instinct won out.

Finding them. Finding the bastards who had done this. Find them. Make them pay. Show them what real pain was.

Maybe after she did that, she'd join her sister.

Don't think like that, baby girl…

It was the ghost of her mother's voice she heard whispering through her head. Mom had done her best to teach both of her girls how to handle their gifts. One of the first things in controlling a gift was maintaining the emotions. Strong emotions, especially anger, shattered control, and Jess's hold was tenuous at best now. Her fury had all but shattered her control, but she couldn't find it in her to care.

Like her daughters, Leanne Warren had been gifted. She'd been psychic, and she'd passed her knowledge on to her daughters. She'd also taught them discipline. Her daughters had gifts that required utmost control.

Randi had been born Empathic. Vulnerable to emotions, Randi had mastered shielding around the time most kids were just mastering how to write their names.

Jess hadn't come into her gifts until she was a teen. She had a weak psychic sense, that sixth sense that helped her in her work. That wasn't the gift requiring control, though. It was the telekinesis. When things moved seemingly on their own, it freaked people out.

Every time Jess had slipped up, every time she had cursed the ability that made things go flying through the air, Mom had been there.
You can handle this, baby. We're never given more than we can handle.

“You were wrong, Mom. I can't handle this.”

She said the words out loud, and they seemed to echo through the empty cemetery. The wind blew through the trees, sounding oddly like a sigh. But the ghostly voice in her head stayed silent.

Jess brushed her fingers once more against the marble headstone, and then she rose to her feet. On her way back to the car, she passed by the fence and plucked a few honeysuckle blossoms. Still holding them in her hand, she climbed inside and shut the door.

Jess closed her hand around the blossoms, crushing them in her fist. As the scent of honeysuckle rose in the air, she just sat there and wept.