Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) (38 page)

"Together," he agreed. His wounds throbbed with pain, but he ignored it. "You said you know where he is. Where is he?" But even as he asked it, he realized he knew. "His mansion. Skye's house."

She cocked her head. "It's the place where he met my grandmother. It's the place where it all began and ended for him. He has to be there."

"Then let's go." For a brief moment, neither of them stepped away. Her blue eyes were clear and focused, but shadows still fluttered in them, the weight of so much loss and betrayal in her life. He wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her.

It wasn't a chaste kiss. He poured every word he didn't dare speak into the kiss, a deep, penetrating assault. She didn't shy away from it. She just flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back, two desperate souls trying to hang onto their last moment, knowing that what was looming could tear them apart forever.

His cock was rock hard, and his fangs were burning with need, but he broke the kiss and stepped back. "You ready?"

"Ready." She hesitated. "I should leave a note for David."

He ground his jaw. "No. We do it without him. He's trouble."

More shadows flickered over her face, and he grimaced. "You know him best," he said reluctantly, knowing they didn't have time to argue. "Your call."

For a long moment, she didn't move, and he could feel her emotions warring within her. How many times had she been burned by trusting the wrong person? She looked at Eric. "We need him." She turned away and jotted a note for David, telling him they had gone to the mansion.

She left it on the counter as she grabbed an armful of stakes, and then held out her hand for her grandmother's stake.

He gave it to her.

"We don't have any more of that powder that will allow a vampire to regain his sanity," she said. "This is all we have." She swept his car keys off the counter, and then walked out the door toward his truck.

For a long moment, Eric didn't move. He just stared at the piece of paper on the counter. If David was on their side, they needed him. If he wasn't, they'd be fucked if he showed up. He was their wild card.

Was Jordyn right about him?

Every instinct he had was telling him that David was bad news, and yet, Jordyn clearly felt the opposite. Did he trust Jordyn's instincts or not? Her life depended on him making the right call.

He glanced out the window as Jordyn started the engine to his truck. She looked so tiny in the cab. Her ponytail made her look so young and innocent. This was the woman Cicatrice was planning to claim? And Eric was all that was standing in his way?

No way was he entrusting her life to some crazed self-proclaimed NightHunter. David was not going to be a part of this. Swearing, he reached for the note and grabbed it. He crushed it in his hand and was just about to shove it in his pocket, when he noticed a picture taped to the fridge. The tape was old and yellowing, and the picture was faded, but there was no doubt that it was an image of a young Jordyn, with her arms around a thin, teenaged David. Jordyn had a bruise on her cheek, but she was laughing. David's arm was around her, and he was smiling too, but his gaze was on that bruise, and there was a lethal fire in his eyes, the same one Eric had seen when he'd been talking about vampires.

David had never been innocent, even back then, but Jordyn was included in his sphere of protection. If David came to the mansion, he was most likely going to kill Eric and Tristan, because he'd realize pretty damn quickly that they were vampires, but Eric knew in his gut that the man would never hurt Jordyn. What if Eric failed her? What if he got killed or went over the line with the shadows? What if he lost his shit, and there was no one to step in and help her? David would help her. David, who would kill him and Tristan, would also defend Jordyn to the death.

Which did he value more, his life and Tristan's, or Jordyn's?

Silently, Eric unfolded the note and smoothed it out. He walked over to the open front door, held it up, and then jammed one of the stakes through the note, pinning it to the door where David would never miss it.

He'd made his choice.

"Tell me about Cicatrice." Eric was sitting forward in the passenger seat, a stake in each hand. His gaze was intent on the woods, carefully and methodically scanning every inch as Jordyn drove.

She could see that his skin was glowing a faint green, as if he'd wrapped a protective coating around his flesh to protect him from the sun. He was wearing sunglasses, and the dark lenses hid his face, making him look even more dangerous than he already did. His muscles were taut, and energy was humming off him. Shadows were shifting beneath his skin, but they were in the background, not claiming him. He looked every bit the predator, and she had to admit she was glad to have him along.

"Tell me about how he's been hunting you your whole life," Eric pressed, still not taking his gaze off the woods.

She turned the car down a dirt road that would take them toward Skye's old house, the same path she'd ridden so many times on her bike. "The first time I heard him in my mind, I was five years old. He was whispering my name in my sleep, calling to me. I could see a long, dark tunnel, with something at the end of it. I wanted to see what it was, so I started walking toward it." She still remembered how the air had become colder and colder the further she walked, and the silence had grown in thickness until it hurt her ears, and yet, she'd kept going. "I couldn't stop. I had to know what was at the end of the tunnel. I had to know who was calling my name. I had almost reached the end of the passageway when my grandmother woke me up."

Eric turned his head toward her, but his eyes were hidden behind the smoky lenses. "Had she struggled to awaken you?"

Jordyn was surprised by his observation, and she nodded. "She said she'd been screaming at me for two hours. I was in very deep. Cicatrice had a strong hold on me." She shivered, recalling how ashen her grandmother's face had been, true fear visible in her eyes. "She'd actually climbed in my bedroom window to find me. She said she'd felt my distress and come to me."

Eric rubbed his jaw. "Maybe she felt Cicatrice. She was connected to him." As he spoke, she felt the push of his energy in her mind. It wasn't even intentional, just an automatic brush to connect with her and check on her. The bond between them was very strong already. Why wouldn't her grandmother's and Cicatrice's been even more powerful, after such time together?

For a brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to be so closely connected to a man that his love still touched her even through death. Would that have helped the aftermath of killing Walter, if she'd still been connected to his spirit? Or would it have been an unbearable hell to have his demon-infested mind filling hers?

I'd never do that to you.

She glanced at him, and her heart tightened at the grim look on Eric's face. "With the right guy, it would be beautiful and romantic to be connected for all eternity." The words slipped out unintentionally, but when she said it, she knew it was true. As much as she'd been betrayed by men, she hadn't given up hope. "With the wrong one, hell, though."

Eric said nothing, but his expression was moody. "Cicatrice," he reminded her. "What happened after that night? Did he keep coming after you?"

"Yes." She turned right, the truck tires churning up the gravel road as they got closer to their destination. She wondered if David would find them in time to help. "My grandmother came to me every night after that. She'd sit on the end of my bed, sneaking in so quietly that my dad never heard her. She spent hours helping me weave protections in my mind, and she gave me a necklace with runes on it to wear at bedtime." She touched her neck, recalling the pendant she hadn't thought of for so long. "I lost it a long time ago." Huh. She was sort of wishing she hadn't now. "He came for me every night for a year, and she would merge her mind with mine and help fight him off. He enjoyed it. I could tell that he loved her involvement. It was a game to him, and he fed off it."

She bit her lip, a sudden thought occurring to her. "If I'd been stronger, she wouldn't have had to exert so much energy protecting me. Maybe then he wouldn't have been able to drain her life force so quickly."

"No." Eric was adamant. "Don't do that to yourself. You were a child, and your grandmother made her own choices. He would have taken her anyway, but at least she got to save you. That's what she would have wanted, right? And she did it, didn't she?"

She nodded, her chest suddenly aching for the woman who had guided her through so much. "She loved him, you know. Even though he was draining her, she loved him and didn't want to stop him from reaching for her. She wanted to hold him alive as long as possible, but not at the cost of me. She gave herself to him, but wouldn't let him take me. He was a murderer, but she didn't care. She just saw him as a vampire following his instincts, and she knew he was more than simply a monster." As she spoke, she looked over at Eric.

His face was shadows, and he was staring out the windshield again, his attention riveted on the woods around them. He was, in part, a monster, just as Walter had been, and yet, he was also a good man. A great man, actually. One who made her laugh, who kept her safe, and whose loyalty to both his brother and her would never cease. He was the worst of what a man could be, but at the same time, he was the pinnacle of what every man would aspire to.

Her grandmother had fought for Cicatrice, but she'd failed to redeem him. But even in that last entry in her journal, when she knew she was dying, she'd held no regret, because love was never a mistake. Oba had believed that it was worth the sacrifice of her life to try to save the man she loved.

"Jordyn?" Eric nudged her. "Finish the story."

She swallowed, and nodded. "After a year, I finally developed the skills to keep him out better. He came less often, but when he did, it was unexpected. He'd come after me while I was napping in the afternoon sun, or dozing off during class, or the nights when I was so tired I didn't have shields."

Eric turned to face her, and shoved his sunglasses up so he could see her more clearly. His eyes were pitch black and fermenting with lethal danger. "What did he do to you?"

She bit her lip, surprised that Eric knew there was more to the story than what she'd told him. Or maybe she shouldn't be surprised that he'd looked past the surface to the truth she'd tried to hide. She liked that about Eric, that he never let her put up walls between them.

"Stop the truck," he commanded.

She hit the brakes, and the truck stilled, the engine idling in the silent woods. Sunlight was filtering through the trees, but dusk was still several hours away. "What?"

He turned to face her, weaving the stake rapidly between his long fingers. "What did he do to you?" His voice was lethal, like ice.

She'd hidden it her entire life, but suddenly, she didn't want to hide anymore. She wanted Eric to know.

She pulled the collar of her shirt down, revealing the top of her left breast. She carefully unwove the magical illusions that she'd held there for so long. It took a moment, because she was so used to holding it. And then, finally, it was gone, revealing a carving above her breast exactly like the one David had shown them, the symbol of the NightHunters. The scar was deep and precise, the skin still blackened and angry. That same sense of violation slithered down her spine as it had each time she'd woken up and seen another mark. It began to burn again, just like it had when he'd done it. "It took him two years to complete it." Two years of hell in which every night was a terror, and she fought not to sleep. "After my grandmother died, he came after me really aggressively."

Eric swore under his breath, and he placed his palm over the marking. His skin was warm, and his touch seemed to ease some of the pain. "You hid this from me when we made love. How did I not sense it?"

"I hide it from myself." She wanted him to understand. "He claimed me, Eric, just the way Walter did, and Tristan. He can still reach me through this mark. I've tried everything to get it out of me, but it's there, forever, linking us. It's like a stain on my body. I hate it."

Eric bent his head and pressed a kiss to the angry scar. His kiss was so gentle that tears sprang to her eyes. She leaned her head down, resting her cheek against his hair as he trailed soft kisses over every line. Her skin tingled and hummed, and she felt as if blood were rushing to that part of her body for the first time in years. "What are you doing?"

"Offering you what I can." His voice was rough but tender, and he set his hand on her hip as he pulled back.

She looked down and saw the scars were glowing with a faint green aura. As she watched, the verdant light sank into the dark, soiled flesh. When it faded, she realized the scars were smoother, and less dark. She brushed her finger over them, and they were no longer ice cold like they'd always been. They were warm, as if they were no longer dead tissue rotting away in her chest, but were beginning to repair. She looked at Eric, and saw that his face was more shadowed than it had been, with streaks of black sliding down his throat. "You took it into your body?"

"Yeah. He was in spirit form when he did it, so it falls within my particular skill set." He ran his hand down her hair, his fingers tangling in the tendrils. "Better?"

She stared at him, her throat tightening. "But you can't risk that. You're so close to the edge. You can't add to the darkness that you're already battling."

He shrugged. "It's my gift to you, Jordyn. Freedom from all the bastards who have tried to trap you." He trailed his fingers over her forehead. "Did you ever get inside his head? Did you learn any weaknesses he has?"

She shook her head. "I didn't break his hold on me until I moved to Boston. It was far enough away, I guess, and I was really pissed about the marking. I fought him off, and I hadn't heard from him since. Until today."