Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) (37 page)

"Oh." Disappointment flickered across her face.

Disappointment. She was
disappointed
that he didn't want her to love him. Suddenly, his chest seemed to tighten, and he couldn't breathe. Did that mean she wanted him to say yes? That she was already falling for him the same way that he'd tumbled so completely under her spell?

He sat back, removing his arm from the back of her chair. "Sorry." He was sorry. He was sorry as hell on a thousand different levels. He was far sorrier than that damned, inadequate word could ever begin to express, no matter how many times he uttered it.

She stared at him for the longest time, as if she was reaching inside him and wrapping her hands around his very soul. "I am, too," she said.

He wanted to ask what she was sorry for. For falling in love with him? For wanting him to give a different answer? For the fact that she knew damn well how he felt, and she pitied him for loving a woman who would never love him back? What the hell was she sorry for?

She waited, as if she'd offered that opening for him. He knew in that moment, that all he had to do was ask what she was sorry about, and she would tell him the truth, even if it meant telling him that she loved him and wanted him as much as he craved her.

He could ask, and she would tell him, and then what? It would be that much harder for him to keep his distance.

He could ask, and he would know what it was like to be loved by the one woman who had truly touched his heart.

He could ask.

He didn't.

Tristan awoke abruptly, his mind shocked into full consciousness by the sudden awareness of danger. He instantly went on alert, reaching out with his mind to check his surroundings. He was deep beneath the earth, his body shrouded in the rich, damp soil beneath the swamp, where he'd been forced to go after the attack by his brother.

Never before had the spirits been able to penetrate his flesh like that, but it had been like a thousand teeth ripping apart his skin, burrowing straight through him toward his heart. He'd barely made it into the soil before he'd passed out, plunging through the depths of the rancid swamp to try to hide his trail.

It was still daylight. He could feel the lethargy in his limbs. He should be asleep now, but his mind was crystal clear, devoid of any of the heaviness that customarily assaulted him when the sun was high. His body hummed with energy as the earth worked to heal his wounds, and yet his instincts were on edge, sensing a threat so deadly that it had broken through his deep sleep.

He reached out with his mind, sending tendrils in all directions through the earth. The rich soil spoke to him, assuring him that there were no threats coming toward him. The ground was rich and healing, pouring life into him.

He shifted his focus upwards, and instantly caught the stench of pure evil, and the urgent pulse of a hunter. He slammed his shields up, cutting himself off and swathing himself in the silence of a tomb.

Cicatrice was hunting him, and he was nearby.

Tristan lay still, unable to move and defend himself due to the heavy beat of the sunshine. Adrenaline rushed through him, along with the need to open his mind and track the hunter, to follow his every move as he swept back and forth above the swamp, searching for Tristan.

He didn't succumb to the urge. If he opened his mind, Cicatrice would be able to sense him as easily as Tristan had been able to locate him. He didn't have the physical strength to defeat the master vampire right now. His only chance was to eliminate his trail, and wait until nightfall returned his strength to him.

He would fight him this night. Jordyn's blood had restored his depleted body and brought clarity to his mind. The hunger still beat within him, the predator that he kept barely leashed, but he was more now. Jordyn had given that to him.

Jordyn.
He had a sudden memory of feeding on her, of her stabbing him with a stake. More flashes of memory came back to his mind. He recalled the surge of lust for her. Shit
. Lust?
What the hell had he done to her?

Loathing rushed through him, hatred for what he had become. Tonight, Cicatrice would die, and then he would find the bastard who tricked him into resurrecting the vampire. And then...shit...would he kill himself? And doom Eric?

Frustration roared through Tristan, and he wanted to strike out in fury, but his muscles were like lead. This was what he had become? A half-dead creature who preyed upon the woman he was supposed to protect? And Eric... Sudden grief seized him, a deep, penetrating sadness for the brother he would have to destroy.
I'm so fucking sorry, my brother.

Tristan.
Eric's startled voice flooded his mind, and Tristan froze in shock.

Eric?
He reached out tentatively, unwilling to risk Cicatrice finding him. But the urge to connect with Eric was too strong. For a year, he'd kept his brother out, unwilling to drag him into his hell, but the attack by Eric's phantoms had broken down his shields, reestablishing the presence of Eric inside his mind. Shit, it felt good to hear from him. Energy hummed through him, a lightness he hadn't felt in over a year.
You almost killed me, you bastard.

You were munching on my woman. Can't have that. She's mine, by the way. I love you, but you can't have her. Glad to hear you're coherent and sane, though. Always a nice trait in a vampire brother.

Yours?
Tristan was shocked by the revelation. Jordyn was too sweet and wholesome for either of the Hunter twins.
Fuck that, Eric. She's not your type. She's too damn nice for you. You have to leave her alone.

I know that, bro. I'm not going to take her, but she's mine. Why the hell did you bind her to us? She deserves more.
Eric's voice was hard.

Guilt rushed over Tristan, the same guilt that had haunted him when he did it. Guilt, but no regret. He would make the same choice again.
It had to be done.
He offered no explanation. There wasn't time.
Cicatrice is hunting me. I need to cut off communication soon.

Where are you? I'll come save your ass.

No. I'm dangerous. Stay away.
He hesitated.
How's Jordyn? Did I hurt her?
Shit. He knew he had. His brother wasn't good enough for her, and neither was he.
Take her and get out of town, Eric. Make her leave.

Eric's impatience flooded him.
We're not leaving without you. Where are you? We need to get to you before Cicatrice does—

A hand shot through the dirt, and Tristan had no time to react before claws sank into his heart. Instinct galvanized him, and he grabbed the bony wrist, breaking it as he yanked it from him, thrusting energy at his assailant. The earth parted above him, and the swampy water poured down on top of him.

Tristan gasped and rolled to his side, desperation igniting his lethargic body into action.

Claws sank into his back, right through his ribs. Fury roared through him and he spun around, slashing as he did. His claws raked across flesh, but before he could fully turn to face his assailant, a searing pain tore through his head, and then there was nothing.

"Tristan!" Searing pain shot through Eric, and he gripped his chest. Burning agony tore through his heart and he went down on his knees, staggering under the onslaught of pain.

"Eric?" Jordyn knelt beside him, her face stark with worry. "What's wrong?"

"Tristan." He grunted as pain ripped through his back, and he felt like his ribs were breaking. "Something's happening to him." The pain was unreal, coursing through him so savagely it felt as though it was tearing his flesh from his body. He gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the floor as evil flooded him, the same evil he'd felt in Jordyn's mind and outside David's house, an energy he now recognized as belonging to Cicatrice.
Tristan. What's going on?

There was no reply from his brother, and then, the pain was gone...and so was Tristan. The connection between the brothers had been severed.

"Tristan!"
Tristan!
Eric lurched to his feet, sending out mental energy in all directions, but he couldn't find his brother again. All he felt was the insidious invasion of Cicatrice in his mind and body. He whirled around, summoning magic even as he turned, but there was nothing there. No threat. Nothing to defend against. Just Jordyn, staring at him from her knees.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Cicatrice. I felt him." Eric moved toward the window and inspected the woods, carefully sending out pulses of energy in all directions. There were no empty spots, and he could identify everything. "He's not out there." Swearing, he turned back toward her. "He has Tristan." Urgency coursed through him. "We need to find him. Now."

Jordyn didn't move. She was still on her knees, staring at him with an ashen face. "Eric—"

"Cicatrice was fully functional. I felt his energy. He's not slowed down by the daylight." Refusing to acknowledge the residual pain still drifting through him from Cicatrice's attack on Tristan, Eric strode across the dining room to the kitchen. He grabbed the stake that he'd tossed on the floor. It seared his palm before he remembered to block it, and he cursed as the scent of burning flesh streamed through the air. "We have to locate him. Now."

"Eric!" Jordyn stood up, her hands on her hips.

This time, the urgency of her tone broke through his tension, and he spun around to face her. "What?"

"Look at your chest."

He looked down. Blood was oozing through his tee shirt in five long lines. He yanked up his shirt. The skin on his chest had been torn open. The flesh was already turning black, and he knew it was poisoned.

"Your back as well." Jordyn pulled his shirt up, and he felt her fingers brush over the jagged wound on his back. Pain shot through him, and he became aware of a sharp ache every time he breathed. "He broke my ribs."

"He?" Jordyn's face was pale. "Who?"

"Cicatrice." He braced his hands on the counter and summoned magic, sending healing light through his body. "He attacked Tristan, and I was wounded through our connection. Shit. That's powerful to be able to manifest physical injury in me from a distance."

Jordyn bit her lip. "It's not healing."

He gritted his jaw. "I know." The taint was thick and noxious, just like what had happened to him when the vampire had bitten him, only much worse. It was beyond what he could heal with his magic. It needed more than he could give. He glanced outside at the ground. He could smell how rich it was, almost as if it were calling to him.

Jordyn followed his glance. "Dirt? You want dirt?"

"I'm fine." He didn't have time to go to underground to heal. His brother was dying. He could feel it. His lungs felt heavy, and he coughed. "We need to find him now."

Jordyn didn't move. She was just staring at him. "You're dying, aren't you? He's killing both of you right now, isn't he?"

"He's trying, but we're stubborn bastards." Steeling himself against the pain, he walked across the kitchen and yanked open the cabinet of stakes. "I'm going to try to open my connection with Tristan, and find him."

"You don't need to do that," she said quietly. "I know where he is."

He looked over at her. She looked like the fierce warrior he'd met in the jungle. Her feet were spread, her hands were on her hips, and her jaw was jutted out. She looked absolutely beautiful, pure fire and passion, and he knew then that he was hopelessly lost for her. He might not be willing to trap her in his life, but he'd never abandon her. He would follow her for the rest of his existence, protecting her from afar, making sure no one ever laid a finger on her again.

Her face softened, and she smiled. "No one has ever looked at me like that," she said softly.

Eric turned away. "Like what?" he asked gruffly.

"Like you'd never, ever betray me." Her voice was soft, full of surprised wonder. "Like you would sacrifice your very soul to keep me safe."

He grimaced and turned back to her. He strode over to her, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her against him. Her body thudded against his, and her breasts were full against his chest. An ancient hunger howled through him. He didn't give into it, though. He just rode it out, allowing it to pulsate through him as he pulled her even more tightly against him. "I swear on what's left of my tattered, blackened soul that you will never be alone in this life again. Do you understand? I will protect you from any threat, at any cost."

She nodded once, her eyes brimming with emotions. "You're awfully bossy and domineering."

He grinned. "Of course I am. I'm kind of an asshole. You know that."

"I do." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

He went still as the need for her ripped through him. His fangs lengthened, and his entire body clenched. His body went rigid, and his arm locked around her back. "Don't play with fire," he gritted out.

She pulled back. "You need the fire right now, Eric. It's the only way we're going to win." There was no fear in her eyes. Just steady determination and commitment. "Cicatrice has a connection to me through my grandmother," she said. "Just like how you and Tristan have one. He's going to try to use that against both of us."

Eric's arm tightened around her lower back. "No." He immediately reached out with his mind to hers, wrapping a protective shield of his magic around her mind, leaving access only for him. "He can't touch you."

"The only way this will work is if you don't shut me out," she said. "We have to be stronger than he is, and the only way we can do that is together."

He tightened his grip on her, every instinct shouting at him to leave town with her and get her away from this battle, but he knew he couldn't do it. Cicatrice would eventually find her no matter where she went, and if he allowed Cicatrice to kill Tristan, and consequently himself, then she would have no one left to protect her. The only solution was to go to war, which meant allowing her to be on the front lines. If he left her behind, she'd be without protection, and that was unacceptable.